


The Other Brother

by TwylaMercedes



Category: Once Upon a Time (TV)
Genre: F/M, movie re-mix, suicidal gesture
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2016-04-27
Updated: 2016-06-14
Packaged: 2018-06-04 17:08:29
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 8
Words: 36,064
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/6667165
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/TwylaMercedes/pseuds/TwylaMercedes
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Belle is only the chauffeur’s daughter but is desperately in love with the younger son of her father’s wealthy employer.  He doesn’t even know she exists.  After four years in Paris, a sophisticated, elegant Belle returns and things change for her and the younger son. But it’s the other --  older -- brother who has designs on her.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Spark Plugs

She hated her life. 

The girl, dressed thoughtlessly in worn jeans and an ill-fitting t-shirt, lay along a long thick limb of an oak tree.  From her vantage she could see The Party.

It was another typically uber-glamourous party on the uber-expansive estate of the uber-rich Stiltskin family. The women were all dressed beautifully . . .  amazingly . . .  gloriously in long silky, sparkly, designer dresses with glittering, dazzling, vibrant jewels around their necks, hanging from their arms and wrapped around their fingers.  The men, ah, they were all well-groomed and wearing tailor-fitted, sleek and expensive designer tuxedos. 

Looking through one cycloramic window of the main house, she could see a group of these well-dressed men, all gathered around Peter Stiltskin’s heavy ornate desk, looking over some blueprints or stock reports or some such.  Peter was the lecherous patriarch of the family, a mean-spirited, conniving, under-handed, sneaky excuse of a human being.  _She didn’t like him._

She also recognized Rumford Stiltskin, Peter’s oldest son, the heir apparent to all things mean-spirited, conniving, under-handed, and sneaky.   He was the _wunderkind_ of the family – everything he touched turned to gold.  His canny manipulation of the stock market in his early twenties and self-made fortune _over and above what his father might have bequeathed to him_ had earned him the nickname ‘Gold.’  He was hard and unyielding – no one ever broke a deal with Gold.  _She was a little afraid of him._

There were also other men she recognized --  Albert Spencer, a prominent, arrogant judge.  _For some reason she didn’t like him either.  Pompous jackass._ There was also David Nolen, one of the family’s attorneys.  _She liked him.  He’d always seemed to be a genuinely nice guy._ She also recognized Killian Jones.  His family had a lot of shipping holdings, ships, trains, trucks and such.  He was a good friend of Jefferson Stiltskin, the younger scion of the Stiltskin family.  And there was Arthur King, a young man who had already inherited the empire his father had built --  and also good friends with Killian and Jefferson.  Usually these three were out together, joined at the hip, having a good time. 

There were others, of course, others that she didn’t recognize from the newspaper or the financial magazines. 

Through the opening of an over-sized window, she could see a group of the well-dressed ladies.  Milah Stiltskin, Rum’s gorgeous wife held court over any number of the female guests.  Mary Margaret Nolen, wife of David, was standing in the room, separated out from the closed circle around Milah. 

There was also Cora Hart, _Queen of the Bitches_.  She was one of the corporate attorneys with whom the family regularly had dealings.  She had never been nice . . . to anyone . . . at any time.  The girl lying along the thick branch in the tree knew that Cora had the royal, pee-purple hots for Rum _or maybe it was for his money_.  She’d seen the older woman corner him a couple of times and watched as Rum would extricate himself from her clutches with fake phone calls or pretend meetings which he had to go to. 

Cora was there with her two daughters. The older daughter was a glorious red-head.  She moved in many of the same circles as Jefferson and Killian.  She was wild and often in trouble; she had boyfriends who were bad news.  The girl knew that this oldest daughter, Zelena, also had the hots for Rum but he seemed to despise her (raising her estimation of Rum).  The girl wasn’t quite sure what to make of the younger daughter, Regina – sometimes, when she was away from her mother, she seemed nice enough.  Other times, she seemed a lot like her mother. 

Next the girl could see into the grand room which held most of the party attendees.  The grand room attendees spilled out onto the patio.   There she could see drinkers and dancing couples and dancing drinking couples and her eyes lit on the person she was looking for.  Jefferson Stiltskin.  The tall, handsome, youngest son of the family.  The good looking one.  The nice one.  The fun one. 

Yes, he was following his usual script.  Usually he would pick out the prettiest girl at the party, whisking her away from her date or her parents _or her husband --_ leading her literally down the garden path, down to the indoor tennis court.  He would meet with his latest conquest with champagne and dancing and there would be kissing and . . .  sometimes . . . there would be more. 

The girl sighed. 

_It wasn’t fair.  She was too young to attract Jefferson’s attention. She wasn’t pretty enough with her plain-Jane brunette locks.  Too skinny, no boobs, short stumpy legs.  Her family wasn’t prominent enough, absolutely not rich enough.  And of course, she didn’t have money to spend on an elegant gown._

She hated her life. 

At sixteen, almost seventeen, there was no hope that it would ever get better.  She would always be stuck in her place -- just the chauffeur’s daughter.

Sniffing, she knew she would live as she always had, above the garage on the large estate.   

To be fair, it was a large garage.  Her father had had this job since before she was born.  He was happy in it.  He drove Peter and Rumford Stiltskin into their office building every morning and back to the house every night.  He remained on standby during the day in case they wanted to drive anywhere besides their office.

Not that the Stiltskins hadn’t been kind to her little family.  She had been sent to the finest private school wherein the uniform she had to wear disguised the family’s income level.  But her lack of professional manicures, her kitchen haircut, her drugstore makeup did reveal that her family wasn’t quite at the same financial level as her classmates.  She couldn’t spend the weekend flying out to the coast or pay for a five-day shopping trip to Paris or London.  

Most of her classmates were kind but there were a few snooty, snotty girls who tried to torment her.  It didn’t help things that she had been accelerated a year because of her academic skills.  The girls would purposely exclude her in the cafeteria and whenever the students divided into teams.  They made catty remarks well within her hearing. 

It didn’t bother her _that much._ She had thrown herself into her studies which pleased and impressed her teachers.  She was a bright girl and found school work easy. 

When she was a Junior, she was asked to tutor the school’s star football player, much to the irritation of the mean girls.  For helping Gary through several tests, she gained the protection of the team, so much of the actual bullying stopped.  She would still overhear the occasional catty comment.  _And she’d had to go out a couple of time with the pawing, slobbering football captain._

Bae, Rum’s son, who was a year ahead of her and very well-liked _not to mention already richer than anybody else at the school_ , caught wind of some of the meanness and also lent her his protection, sitting with her at lunch and making sure she got to her homeroom with no problems.  And there was Emma, the daughter of the Nolens who was in her same class.  Emma also lent her the cloak of belonging, often walking her between classes.  Finally there was Ruby Lucas, who was the granddaughter of the Stiltskin’s former (now retired) cook, who also attended the private school.  Ruby made no bones that her family wasn’t well-to-do but after punching one of the mean girls in the nose _after making sure there were no witnesses,_ well, they seemed to have made the decision to give her a wide berth.    

That had all been last school year.  Bae had graduated and gone off to Yale on a full academic scholarship.  Gary had graduated and gone off to Ohio State on a full athletic scholarship.   Her other friends had remained and continued to provide a buffer for her.   Senior year had come and gone without incident.  She’d graduated first in her class.

But now, despite the academic accolades, at the end of her summer following her Senior Year, she felt defeated. 

The problem:  for three years, she had been nurturing a crush on the younger Stiltskin, taken in by his handsome looks and carefree ways.  He’d had one marriage and countless affairs since she had first noticed him.  He was the hottest, neatest guy, ever. 

And she was in love with him.

And she would always be in love with him.

It looked like he was about to embark on his second marriage.  He was seeing the fabulously famous, exquisitely exotic model Tamara Ritt.  They had been photographed going everywhere, doing everything together.  Skiing, shopping, Fashion Week, Cannes . . . if the rich and famous indulged in it, they were there. 

Jefferson had just plied Tamara away from the crowd at the party and she was the one he was going to meet up with at the tennis court -- to dance with her and drink champagne with her. It was the most romantic liaison the girl in the tree could possibly think of. 

The girl sniffed again.  If only _she_ was the one Jefferson was meeting.   _She imagined herself in a fabulous gown, something the other ladies would envy, with her unruly chestnut hair gathered up (for a change) into well-behaved curls, with just a touch of lipstick and a curl of black mascara.  She would be there at the party._

_Jefferson would see her from across the room._

_Their eyes would lock._

_He would come towards her._

_He would forget about all the other women in his life. He would_ have _to dance with her._   

_“But you are with someone,” she would point out demurely._

_“Never mind her.  It’s you I want.  It’s you I’ve been waiting for,” he would tell her and she would agree to meet him at the tennis court.  They would drink champagne and he would kiss her._

Imagining his kiss, she rolled her head back, lost her balance, yelped, and unceremoniously fell to the ground.  Never a graceful child, she barely managed to get her feet under herself.  She was momentarily stunned.

The final indignity.

She hated her life.   

She made her decision:  life was not worth living.  She’d been thinking about this next step for a while but seeing the party this evening had clinched it. 

 _She imagined the sad funeral – so young, so much to live for, if only Jefferson Stiltskin had paid her any attention._  

_It would be such a sad affair with everyone attending and feeling sorry._

She went back to the garage, the very same garage she and her father lived over.  Entering, she left off the lights.  She stood in the middle of the garage amidst the Bentley (Peter Stiltskin’s preferred car), the Astin-Martin (Milah’s car), the Tesla (Rum’s car), the Lamborghini (Jefferson’s car), the Ferrari (also Jefferson’s car), and the Maserati (also Jefferson’s car).  Decided and determined, she started the Bentley, the Astin-Martin, the Lamborghini, the Ferrari and the Maserati.  She didn’t bother with the all-electric Tesla – it didn’t put out carbon monoxide fumes. 

The exhaust from the vehicles quickly began filling the garage.  It made her have difficulties catching her breath and she coughed.  She stood on a box and opened one of the windows.  She laid her head down on the sill as the cars hummed away in the enclosed area.

**Fresh Air**

Rum had had enough of the late night discussion.  It was pointless.  His dad had already made up his mind and involving everyone else was merely a formality.  Not to mention Cora Hart had blatantly propositioned him _in his own home – yet again -- and with his wife present no less.  And speaking of his wife, she was getting extraordinarily cozy with that swarthy young friend of his brother’s._

He needed to get some fresh air. 

As he walked around to the gardens he thought he heard something.  He went in the direction of the sound and realized it was coming from the garage.  It sounded like someone had cranked up all the cars in the building.  He opened the door and the heavy toxic air hit him in a wave. 

“Good grief!” he exclaimed and taking a deep breath, he ran in to cut off the cars.  Several times he had to get out of the building to take in some fresh air and all the while he fought off dizziness.  On the fourth trip he noticed the girl curled up under the window. 

He couldn’t think of her name.  “Girl, French’s daughter!” he called out to her and grabbed her by the arm, half leading, half dragging her outside.  “What’s going on?” he demanded. 

“Oohh,” the girl was woozy.  “I was . . . uh . . . checking the spark plugs,” she told him lamely.

“Well you shouldn’t turn on a car in an enclosed place.  The carbon monoxide could kill you,” he cautioned her.  She looked up at him and nodded dumbly. 

“Yes sir,” she replied.

“You’d think a chauffeur’s daughter would know that.  Are you all right?” 

“Yes sir,” she answered, regaining some of her awareness.  She realized that the most fearsome of the Stiltskins was standing talking to her and she drew back.   The man was dark and grim and power came off of him in waves.

“Now take some deep breaths.  Breathe deep.  Good girl.  Now, deeper.”

The girl followed his directions and . . .  crumpled.  He barely caught her.  It was only for a moment and she blinked her eyes open while still in his arms.  She flinched back.

“Whaa . . .  what happened?” she asked as he released her and she stepped away from him.

“You passed out.”

“Oh.”

“Of all the idiotic things, dearie.  You know what would have happened if I hadn’t come along?”  he spoke softly, almost kindly.

“I would have died,” she told him in a small voice.

“Aren’t you heading off to Paris tomorrow?” he asked her lifting her chin up so she would have to look him in the eyes.  “I’d think you’d have some last minute packing to do.”

She nodded, her blue eyes large and she elected to bolt away, running up the stairs to the door of the apartment she shared with her father.

Once inside, she stilled her breathing.  Most girls would have been excited to go to Paris.  She was to study at the Sorbonne.  She was a literature major and hoped to go on and get her degree in Library Science. 

She would have been excited except . . .

She hated her life.   

**Two Months Later**

“She’s posted, she’s posted again!” Maurice, who was known to the rest of the staff as Moe, came into the kitchen and turned on the old computer that sat in the corner.  Belle posted regularly regaling everyone about her adventures in Paris, her wit, her vivaciousness, her dry sense of humor coming through in her writings and the pictures she posted.   She wrote in part to keep communication up with her father but also to maintain a record of her life in France, including her life at the Sorbonne.   Moe read her latest posting aloud to Ms. Potts, the family’s chef.  She often would sit and have tea with Moe while he read.

Belle had found an amazing room at a left-bank building that had a preference for Sorbonne students, the Sorbonne having no dormitories connected to the university.  The building she had found was only for female students and she felt lucky to have been accepted, as they usually only took French girls.  She shared that she had thought her French was good, but she was learning quickly that it was, at best, so-so.  She had made several friends and her classes were all exciting.

She also posted the latest snippets she had found concerning Jefferson.  There had been some chatter that he and Tamara may have eloped and there was even more chatter that they’d had a big public fight and had broken up.  She wanted to know what was really going on. 

The posts kept coming.   New friends, new courses, a part time job in a coffee-bar that reminded her of what the beatnik places from the fifties must have been like.  She relished the art scene, the philosophy lectures, the essence of life she was soaking up.  She shared that she didn’t think of Jefferson that much anymore.

Ms. Potts, her father’s confident and the head cook, nodded, “That’s good.”

“ _Except at night,_ ” her father continued.

“That’s bad,” Ms. Potts shared.

“ _I decided to be sensible the other day and I tore up Jefferson’s pictures_.”

Ms. Potts nodded, “That’s good.”

“ _Fortunately I had some scotch tape_.”

Ms. Potts shook her head, “That’s bad.”

**Driving into Work**

“Good morning, French,” Rum greeted his chauffeur early in the morning.  Peter was away on a cruise so it was just Rum and Maurice.  On these occasions, Rum preferred they used his Tesla to get back and forth to the office.

Maurice French nodded.  “Good morning sir.  It’s a beautiful day, sir.”

Rum looked up at the sky as if the state of the weather had never occurred to him. Except, insofar as it affected shipping, as in blizzards and hurricanes, he never noticed the mundane.

“So it is.”  He was about to get in the Tesla when Jefferson peeled into the driveway in his Maserati.

Jefferson greeted his brother, “Morning.  Where are you off to?”

“The office.  Where do you think?” Rum asked him.

“The office?  On Sunday?”

“Today,” Rum told him coldly, “is Wednesday.”

“Wednesday?” Jefferson was genuinely confused. 

The Tesla quietly motored out of the driveway.  Rum was on his phone.  “Ms. Gorim, I’m just leaving the house.  I should be there in twenty minutes.”  He disconnected the phone call and then spent some time checking various stocks. 

“How is that computer applications company’s stock doing, sir?” Maurice asked him.

“It’s starting to go up.  I’ve been in personal communication with this group and have given them some advice on marketing and product development.  If you’re not already in, I suggest you pick up on their stock.  It’s going to go even higher.”

“Very nice sir.”

Rum picked up his phone.  He began talking into it, “Inter-office memo.  Rumford Stiltskin to Jefferson Stiltskin.  Dear Jeff, this is to remind you that you are a junior partner in Stiltskin Business Incorporated.  Our business is located downtown Asheville at 78 Broadway, at the corner of Broadway and Woodfin.  Your office is on the second floor. 

“Our normal work week is Monday through Friday.  Our working day is nine to five.  Should you find this inconvenient, you are free to retire under the company’s pension plan.  Having been with us for three years, this will entitle you to one hundred forty-three dollars and eighty-one cents a month for the rest of your life.”

Rum put his phone down.  “Have you heard from your daughter, French?”

“She still loves him,” Maurice told him absently.

“What?”

“I mean sir, she loves Paris and going to school.  .  .” Maurice sighed and added, “I’m sure she’ll get over it.”

Rum was puzzled but dropped it.  _Odd stuff_.

 **A Kindly Friend**        

“I’ve been noticing you, mademoiselle” it was an older, bald man, a squat, dwarfish figure who came in for coffee every day.   He was often churlish and irascible and none of the other staff liked him much.  Belle almost always seemed to be the barista who would have to wait on him.  Somehow, he seemed to like her. “Your mind is not on where you are, what you are doing.”

“No sir,” Belle apologized for forgetting to turn on the expresso machine and being tardy with his order.  She answered him in her now near perfect French.  “I am often distracted, it’s true.” _The other customers complained about her as she would often get their orders wrong.  If she hadn’t been so pretty, the café owner might have dispensed with her services_.  

“I would guess that you’re in love.  And I will venture to go a step further,” the man said kindly.  “You are unhappy in love.”

“Does it show?”

“Very clearly.  A woman happily in love, she overfills the cups.  A woman unhappily in love . . .  forgets to turn on the espresso machine.”

“I’m so sorry,” Belle apologized.  “I’m trying to get over it.”

“But why try to get over it?  You speak of love like it was a bad cough,” the older man had her sit down with him.

Belle felt her eyes filling with tears.  “He doesn’t even know I exist.  I might as well be reaching for the moon.”

“Indeed,” the older man smiled.  “You young people.  Don’t you realize that we have sent rockets to the moon.  We have walked on the moon.  So he doesn’t know you exist.”  The older man sat back, “Well perhaps if you didn’t look like a young horse.”  He pointed to her unruly pony tail. 

**Ten Months Later**

Maurice shared another post with Ms. Potts.  

“ _His name is LeRoy de Reve.  He is a baron_.”

“Oh my, she’s got a baron!” Ms. Potts was pleased.

“ _He’s in his fifties, widowed and has seven children, all boys. He’s completely out of the closet but his lover is out of town for a while. So, he is bored now and has taken me on as a project.”_

“Oh,” Ms. Potts was disappointed.

“ _He is very sweet and very wise.  He has a box at the opera, a racing stable, and his own vineyards.   He has two seats for Fashion Week and is taking me to several of the showings_.”

Jefferson clomped through the kitchen to grab some bread and ham which he made into a quick sandwich.

“Good morning sir,” said Maurice rising.

“Mornin’.  What’s going on here?”

“A new posting from Belle.”

“Oh, nice.”  He sighed and stomped out.

“What’s wrong with him?” Maurice asked.

“His marriage to Tamara is beginning to fall apart,” Ms. Potts knew all the latest gossip.

“So sorry to hear that,” Maurice shared.

**Four Years Later**

_Dearest Papa,_ began the private text.

_I can’t believe that my fourth year is ending so soon.  I’m graduating with highest honors and have made so many wonderful friends.  I doubt you’d recognize me if you passed me in the street. I’ve changed and not just on the outside with new clothes and a new hairstyle.  The changes inside have been more dramatic, more remarkable and more profound than anything on the outside.  The Baron, my professors and all my wonderful friends have introduced me to so many amazing things -- fine wine, excellent food, quality clothing, and gracious manners.  I have discovered my own ability to see beauty and goodness in others and, if it’s not there, to put it there._

_I have learned how to live, how to be in the world and of the world and not just to stand aside and watch.  And I will never, never again run away from life or from love either – I know that if I do the brave thing, that bravery will follow._

_I am taking the plane home and will arrive on Wednesday mid-day, Father.  You needn’t pick me up from the airport.  I’ll get a cab and meet you at the Stiltskin Building._


	2. Invitations

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> A surprise engagement is announced.  
> Belle,now back from four years in Paris, gets a ride home by someone who doesn’t recognize her.

_In the last chapter, young Belle is saved from an act of desperation by the fortuitous intervention of the older son of her father’s wealthy employer.  She survives to spend the next four years in Paris at the Sorbonne where she learns about life and living.  She returns on a Wednesday morning and is planning to connect with her father at the Stiltskin Building._

**Wednesday Late Morning**

“What the hell is this?”  Jefferson had attempted to storm into his brother’s office, making it to the front office, the big one in front of his brother’s bigger office.  He was looming over Ruth Gorim, his brother’s gorgeous but severely stern and supremely competent administrative assistant. 

She looked up and coolly surveyed him.  “Yes, Mr. Jefferson?” she asked.

“Is he in?  Is that son of a bitch in?”

“Mr. Stiltskin is in his office, Mr. Jefferson.  But he’s very busy.  Would you like an appointment?”

“I want to see him now!” Jefferson pounded the table.

She tapped a screen that was laid into the side of her desk.  “I can get you in at three thirty this afternoon for ten minutes.”

“I am going to see that bastard now!”

“I’m sorry, Mr. Jefferson.  He gave me strict orders that he was not to be interrupted.  He’s working with other attorneys and government representatives making arrangements on this desalinization project.”

“I don’t care if he’s meeting with Jesus’s attorneys arranging for the Second Coming.  You open that bloody door or I’m going to use you as a battering ram and break it down!”

Displeased, Ms. Gorim glared at the irate young man.  She took a deep breath muttering something about there being no reason to be sacrilegious and pressed a button next to the desk screen.  “Mr. Stiltskin, sir.  He’s here.  Just like you told me.  Shall I send him in?”

Jefferson couldn’t hear what his brother said, the roar in his head too loud, but then the door to the inner sanctum swung opened.

“Rum!  I want to see you!” he shouted.

“I’m sure Ms. Gorim told you she could give you an appointment,” his brother told him smoothly.

“I want to see you now!”

Rum turned to the group of somberly dressed men.  “All right gentlemen.  I’ll be ten minutes.”  He conducted Jefferson to a smaller office set off from the larger one.

“Now, what’s got you all hot and bothered?” Rum asked him.

“This announcement!  It’s all over the freakin’ media!”

“What announcement!” Rum asked him innocently.

Jefferson opened his phone and scrolled down.  “Here!  _It looks like wedding bells for Jefferson Stiltskin again.  The lucky girl is Alice Lydell, a lead microbiologist with Stiltskin Pharmaceuticals.  Didn’t know that Jefferson Stiltskin, who was previously married to actress Randi Gordon, then to model Tamara Ritt, then to socialite Heather Harkum, went in for the brainy type.  Maybe fourth times the charm_.”

“Well congratulations,” Rum nearly smiled at his brother.

“Did you plant this?”

“Me?!  I have no contact with these media types.  But I thought it was common knowledge about you and Alice.  You’ve been seeing her steadily for more than six weeks.  You never go longer than that without a proposal.  You do like this young woman, right?”

“Yeah, I like her.”

“So?”

“I like a lot of girls!”

Rum quietly poured Jefferson a short glass from one of several pitchers he had set aside, “Yeah, I’ve noticed.  Here, drink this.”

Jefferson took a sip and spewed.  “It’s water!”

“Yeah, tastes great, doesn’t it?  It used to be swamp water.”

“Let’s get back to my problem, if you don’t mind.”

“Try this water.”  And his older brother handed him another glass poured from another pitcher.

Jefferson sipped.  “Great, was this formerly toilet water?”

“Nah, toilet water’s easy to recycle.  This . . .  this was salt water.”

Jefferson set the glass aside.  “Listen, Rum.  I’ve been married three times before.  It’s not for me.  I’ve had it.  I’ve done with marriage.”

“Yeah, but this is the first time the family approves.  For once you’re gonna settle down and do something constructive and useful with your life.”

“What’s so constructive about marrying Alice Lydell?” he asked, then paused.  “Wait a minute.  Wait. A. Minute.  Didn’t I hear you and Papa talking . . . aren’t you using some type of sea algae to filter the water?”

“Along with half a dozen other materials, but yeah, the sea algae is the most difficult to obtain.”

“And doesn’t Alice’s family own the rights to a . . . what do they call it?  A sea kelp farm or some such?  The largest sea kelp farm in the world?”

“Second largest.  The largest have no daughter,” Rum told him.

Jefferson sat on his brother’s desk.  “Now, now it’s all beginning to make sense.  Mr. Lydell, Alice’s father owns the sea kelp that’s used in the desalinization project.  You own the formula for the desalinization procedures and I’m supposed to be offered up as a human sacrifice on the altar of industrial progress.   Is that it?”

“You make it sound so vulgar, Jefferson.  As if the son of the hot dog dynasty were being offered in marriage to the daughter of the mustard king.  Surely, surely you don’t object to Alice just because her father happens to have over forty million dollars and a prosperous business.  That’s very narrow-minded of you, Jefferson.”

“Well you’ve overlooked something.  I haven’t proposed.  She hasn’t accepted.”

“Oh I wouldn’t worry about that.  I proposed and Mr. Lydell accepted.”

Jefferson smirked.  “Did you kiss him?”

“Oh just lighten up.  Alice is one of the nicest, loveliest women around.  Sooner or later you were going to propose, we both know it.  I just helped you make up your mind.”

“Listen if you really want to seal this deal, why don’t _you_ marry her?  If she’s so lovely and smart and all.”

“Me?” Rum snorted

“What’s so funny?” Jefferson asked him.                                        

“After the Milah fiasco – finding her in the sack with one of your best friends!  Jeff, I’ve been out of that marriage for nearly four years and I have no desire to get back into that drama circus again.  Anyway, right now if I were to get re-married, I’d have to take two admins, at least one attorney, and my accountant along on the honeymoon.”  He stopped a moment.  “Jefferson, I know that I bear some blame in Milah’s behavior. I was unfaithful to her nearly every night of our married life with vice presidents, boards of directors, attorneys, accountants.  This . . . this is my home now,” he gestured around at the office.  “It wouldn’t be fair to any woman to ask her to share me with all this.”

“I don’t understand it, Rum.  You already have all the money in the world.”

Rum closed his eyes and then continued.  “What’s money got to do with it?  If making money were all there was to business, it’d hardly be worthwhile going into the office.  Money is just the by–product.”

“Well, then, what is the main objective?  Power?”

“Oh my.  That’s become such a dirty word.  Power. . . . hmmmm.” Rum was shaking his head.

Jefferson threw up his hands “Well then why?  You’ve got plenty of money and plenty of power.  You’re going into what now?  Desalinization?  Why?  Why bother?”

“Why bother?” Rum repeated. “Why not?  A new product has been developed, something of genuine use to the world.  A new industry moves into undeveloped areas.  Factories go up.   Machines are brought in.  Maybe a harbor is dug, train tracks are laid down, roads are built.  We’re in business.  A lot of jobs come into an area that’s had nothing going for it.  Houses go up.  Walmart moves in.  Now it’s purely coincidental, of course, that people who’ve never seen a dime before, suddenly have a dollar.  There are three meals on the table.  Schools in the area now have more money to provide a better education.  Kids can get their teeth fixed.  What’s wrong with the urge to give people libraries, restaurants, hospitals, football fields and. . . uh. . .  movies on Saturday night?”

Jefferson frowned.  “Great.  Now you’re making me feel bad.  If I don’t marry Alice, there’s gonna be some kid running around with crooked teeth and nothing to do on Saturday night.”

Rum nodded, “Right now we’re organizing S and L Desalinization.  We’re designating some of our factories to begin making the equipment and we’re lining up different ways to ship the product out.  We’ll be donating some of the earliest prototypes to some very needy areas.  Hell, California alone has requested over a hundred thousand of the first units.”

“So, everything’s already in motion?”

“Exactly.  We’re thinking a fall wedding so we can get these out before the end of the year.”

‘Uh huh,” Jefferson sat on his brother’s desk.

“I think you’re going to be very happy, Jefferson.”

**Wednesday – A Later That Same Morning**

As a deflated Jefferson made his way down the stairs into the lobby of the building, he couldn’t help but notice the petite beauty sitting on a fashionable Louis Vitton suitcase with several other small cases set next to her.  He actually noticed her legs first.  She was wearing a very short brown skirt and FMP’s; her entire look screamed a combination of chicness and competency.  She was relaxed and reading from a tablet e-reader.

He couldn’t resist approaching her.

“Miss, did you get dropped off here by mistake instead of your hotel?” he asked her.

“Why hello!  How are you?” the woman looked up from her screen and gave him a brilliant smile.  He was entranced by her sparkling blue eyes.  She had curly copper brown hair and perfect skin and from what he could see, a pert little body. 

And she seemed to know him.

A bit perplexed, he answered slowly, “Why. . .  I’m fine.  How are you? . . . And might I add, _who_ are you?”

The woman looked him over and repeated his question, “Who am I?”

“Am I supposed to know?” he asked.  _He couldn’t have possibly dated this woman before.  He would have remembered her.  Maybe he’d been drunk, really drunk._

The woman gave him a gentle smile.  “No, as I think about it.  No, you’re not supposed to know me.”

Jefferson relaxed.  “Are you stranded?”

“Well, I was planning on connecting with my father here but he’s been delayed,” she explained.

“Then please, I’d be eternally grateful if I can give you a lift.”

“You certainly can.  Can you drive me home?  It’s just north of the city.”

“That’s where I live!  Whereabouts?”

“Desoris Lane,” she told him.

“Desoris Lane?!”  Jefferson was again perplexed.  “That’s where I live!”

“Really!” the young woman did seem to be enjoying herself.

“Why, we must be neighbors, and if there’s one thing I believe in, it’s ‘Love thy neighbor,’” he told her.

The young woman laughed, “Oh, so do I.”  She reached down to pick up one of the bags, which proved to be an animal carrier and another of the other small bags.  “Come on Jeff, we’ve got a ride home.”

Jefferson peered in at the large fluffy animal residing in the carrier.  “Jeff? Is his name Jeff?”

“Why, yes it is,” the woman was still smiling at him.

“That’s funny.  My name is Jeff, too.”

“That _is_ funny, isn’t it?”  She followed Jefferson, who was managing her other bags, out to his car which he’d parked in the red zone on the curb.

He drove them down to Merrimon to get them out of the city.  They chatted along the way.

“You sure you don’t want to tell me your name?” he asked her.

“Oh, I’m positive.  I’m having much too much fun,” she smiled at him.

Jefferson had to smile too.  She was delightful.  “All right then, if you want to play games.  Let’s try Twenty Questions.  Have you always lived here?”

“Most of my life,” she answered.

“I could’ve sworn I knew every pretty girl on the north side of Asheville.”

“I could’ve sworn you took in waaay more territory than that,” she told him.

Jefferson winced.  _She did know him._   “This is maddening.  I know I’ve seen that face before.  Let’s see that profile again.”

The young woman dutifully turned her head so he could look at her as they sat through a stop light.

He shook his head.  _Damn, she was gorgeous._ “I know I know you.  I have a feeling I’ve seen you. . . with your father.  Wait a minute.  Is your father Admiral Starratt?”

She shook her head, “Hardly.”

“I keep seeing him in a uniform.  Oh, give me a hint will you?”

The young woman thought a moment.  “He’s in . . . transportation.”

‘Railroads?”

“No.”

“Airplanes?”

“No.”

“Boats?”

“No.”

“Trucks?  I bet he’s up working with my brother right now on Rum’s latest project.”

“No, but you are getting closer.”

“Cars?”

“Ah yes,” she replied.

“Is he on the board of directors for some company?”

“Well, he runs things,” she said cagily.

“I bet my brother Rum knows him.”

“He certainly does.  They often drive into town together.”

“I should know him then,” Jefferson was ready to hit his head on the steering wheel.  “Where do I need to turn to get you home?” he asked.

“Just head on to your place,” she told him.

As they pulled in the long driveway Jefferson was continuing to try to work things out.

“Just go around to the back, to the garage,” she told him.

“I’m feeling stupid,” he confessed.

“You’ll be all right in a minute.”

“Hey,” Jefferson looked around as they parked in front of the garage behind the Stiltskin estate.  “You can’t live here.”

“Well I do.” 

“I live here!”

“Hello neighbor!” she beamed at him.

The young woman leaned over to honk his horn several times and the staff emptied out of the back of the house to greet her.  It finally came together.  _This was little Belle_. It was hard for Jefferson to put the skinny-legged, harum-scarum little bookworm together with this self-possessed beautiful young woman.

“Belle!” he said.

“Hello Jefferson,” she told him, beaming and then popped out of the car to hug Ms. Potts, the assistant cook, the downstairs maids and the upstairs maids.

“Look at you.  You’ve come home such a beautiful lady,” Ms. Potts greeted her.

“I’ve got something for everyone.  Paris chocolates! A little Paris perfume! So many other little things!”

Ms. Potts spoke again, “Your father called to tell me you were back safely but he’d had to take Mister Peter to a doctor’s appointment.”

“I know.  It worked out well for me.  Jefferson was there to offer me a lift,” Belle told her. 

“Well, I don’t know if your father would have recognized you,” Ms. Potts told her stepping back to look her over.

“Jefferson had a little trouble, didn’t you Jefferson?” Belle asked, mischievously.

“Yes, I did,” Jefferson admitted, looking her over yet again with pure male appreciation.

“Well, let’s get your bags out of the car and up to the apartment and we’ll have some coffee,” Ms. Potts told her.

“I’ll help,” Jefferson volunteered and pulled out the large suitcase to follow Belle up the stairs to the apartment. 

Once inside, she let the cat out, a big brown long-haired tabby with pale blue eyes.  He wandered around sniffing until he found a litter box.  “I see my dad got things all prepared for you,” she spoke to the cat giving the fluffy beast a pat.

“Listen,” Jefferson began.  “As, uh, old neighbors, I, um, I think the two of us should have a reunion.”

“That’s sounds nice,” she replied coolly opening up her suitcase.

“How about tonight?”

“Do you really want to see me?” she asked him carefully.

“Very much.”

“Sure of that?” she asked again.

“Absolutely, I’m sure.”

“All right then,” she agreed.

“Great.  We’ll go out on the town.  We’ll have a drink at one of the bars and then Le Bouchon or Limones for dinner.  They’re great little French restaurants . . . well, I guess after Paris, they wouldn’t seem so special.”

“I’d love it.  Either place,” she told him.

“Then we can go dancing and . . . oh shit!  I completely forgot. We’re . . . we’re having a big party at the house here tonight.”

“With an orchestra and dancing?” she asked eagerly.

“Yeah.  You know how much my dad likes that type of thing.”

“Well, that would be even more fun.”

“Oooh, I don’t know.  There’ll be a lot of dull people around, like my brother.  Family stuff, you know?”

Belle answered softly, “I don’t mind, Jefferson.  As long as you’re there.”

“You’re a jewel, Belle. Oh. . . it is formal.  You have a dress?” he asked.

“I do,” she told him.  “I think you’ll like it.”

**Wednesday – Early Evening**

Everything was just perfect.  The beautiful women, the well turned out men, the orchestra, the food.  Belle was beside herself.  She surveyed herself in a mirror.  She’d selected a vintage silk real Chanel gown she’d bought on the advice of the Baron.  It, like her Vuitton luggage, had been found at a second-hand store specializing in upscale merchandise.  Her dress was simple, body-clinging, and in a blue that matched her eyes.  It was slit up the side so that one well-toned leg could be seen when she walked.  She paired it with one of her few splurge items, a genuine Hermes scarf that included the blue of the dress.  She slipped on another pair of heels, pretty gold-toned ones that she’d found in a strip mall shoe store.

“Belle,” her father began.  He was watching his daughter put the last finishing touches on her look. 

“Here we are, Father.  A silk tie,” she picked it up from her suitcase (still open on her bed) and laid it on his shoulder. “Do you like it?”

“Nice, very nice.”

“I’m so glad,” she told him.   “I wanted to get you something unique.”

“Belle, I don’t want to upset you but Jefferson is engaged.  He’s getting married again,” her father said kindly. 

“Oh, I know,” Belle finished putting on a little lipstick.  “I saw the press release.  He’s picked someone quite different this time.  I wonder if the family had any role in his decision.”

“Then you don’t care?”

“Not too much.  After all, he’s not married yet.”

“Oh Belle, I’m not sure I like the sound of that.”

“Don’t you see Father,” she turned to him.  “Everything has changed.”

“No, nothing has changed.  He’s still Jefferson Stiltskin.  You’re still the chauffeur’s daughter.  You’re still reaching for the moon.”

“No Father,” she said sincerely.  “This time the moon is reaching for me.”

**Wednesday – That Same Evening**

Alice Lydell, along with her parents, were in attendance at the Stiltskin’s party.  It wasn’t quite an engagement party, more like a pre-engagement party.  There were plenty of glittery people present.  Jefferson was dancing with Alice, a tall, pale blonde with a playful demeanor. 

“This marriage thing is moving very fast.  I feel like I’ve fallen down a rabbit hole and things are just coming at me.  I know my father wants it and your brother is pushing for it, but I wonder if we should slow things up,” she told Jefferson.

“Why?  Don’t you want to marry me?” he asked her.

“Of course I do, but I don’t want to feel we’re rushing into anything.”

Jefferson shrugged, “But once we’ve made up our minds, why wait?”

“Now, I’ve always told you that I wasn’t one for a big fancy wedding, with an enormous guest list, a fancy gown, but now I’m wondering if I’ll regret not doing the whole big thing.”

“We can wait if you want.  Or not.   Whatever you want,” Jefferson was very accommodating.

Peter Stiltskin and his other son were watching the couple dance.

“They make such a pretty couple, don’t they,” Rum remarked.

“They do,” agreed his father.  “She’s probably smarter than the last three wives put together.  Can’t see what she sees in him.”

“Maybe that’s what he needs, father.  A smart woman,” Rum told his father.

“The men in our family have never married smart women.  Your mother, bless her heart, was probably the brightest of the wives before Alice, but she was an emotional roller coaster, impulsive and strong-willed.”

“Who didn’t put up with your tom-catting¸ Papa,” Rum reminded him.  He watched his father wander off, looking around for his current bed-warmer, a pretty blonde who was younger than Bae, Wendy Darling.  Rum had cringed when he met his father’s latest liaison – Wendy wasn’t the usual gold-digger type and Rum couldn’t help but wonder if the poor girl wasn’t doing his father to pay off some family debts.    

Rum’s memories of his mother were dim.  She was gone before he was two, killed in a car accident.  He had clearer memories of Jefferson’s mother.  She’d been nice enough, a Las Vegas showgirl, great legs but not much going for her otherwise.  That marriage had been quick and done within a year.  After that there had been a series of liaisons, none lasting more than a couple of weeks. 

As for his own marriage, Rum had to acknowledge, Milah had been clever, although not so intelligent.  She was a cosmetic’s queen, peddling her wares in high-end department stores and on home shopping shows.  Her sultry beauty had caught his eye and they had known each other less than six weeks before they married.  Their marriage had lasted longer than others in the family but she hadn’t been happy after the first few years.  They had gone on together as divorce was more expensive than dis-continuing the marriage.  Milah had certainly enjoyed the perks of being married to a very wealthy man.  He’d ignored the infidelities but catching her in his own bed with that. . . that pirate had been too much.  The pre-nup had saved him a fortune but the divorce still chaffed. 

Young Miss Lydell, or should he say, Dr. Lydell, was absolutely brilliant by all accounts.  Her work in microbiology had led to some medication trials.  He’d come across her efforts in the pharmacy branch of the company.  He’d made the connection between her and her family’s sea vegetable empire along the way.  

She was also quite pretty, with long blonde hair, pale blue eyes, a delicate cut of features.  Pleasant disposition from what all he had heard.  He genuinely thought she’d be good for his brother. 

“She’s lovely,” he heard Mary Margaret Nolen say as she came up next to him.  “Think she’s the one who’ll get him to settle down?”

“Perhaps.  She’s smart and pretty.” He glanced over at the delectable Mrs. Nolen.  He’d always envied the affable David his wife.  Pretty, smart and nice, a trifecta of feminine qualities. 

“Think we’ll be getting an announcement from our offspring?” she asked him.

“Bae talked with me and opted not to use his mother’s ring.  Too much  . . . darkness associated with it.  I’m sure he’s got something else special planned.”

“We like Bae,” Mary Margaret told him.  He didn’t miss the omission here.  She didn’t like him very much.  

“I like Emma,” he responded. Honestly.    

The two watched Jefferson and Alice as they danced across the floor.  His brother had certainly inherited the grace and motor coordination from his dancer mother.  But as he watched, his brother steered his partner into one of the waiters causing the hapless waiter to dump a tray of wine on the lovely Miss Alice. _What the hell?_

“Oh, I’m so sorry.  It was all my fault,” his brother apologized to both Alice and the waiter.  “How clumsy of me.”

Mary Margaret left Rum’s side and was quickly on the scene.  “Oh, darling, let me help you with that.  We’ll need to wash it out right away.”

“I’m sorry, Alice.  Thank you Mary Margaret,” Jefferson was all contrite.

 Mary Margaret led her off.

“What was that about?” Rum asked his brother.  _It had looked intentional._

“Look at that.”  Jefferson spun him around so that Rum could see what he had been looking at.

“Who is that?” Rum saw the vision in sapphire blue as she drifted onto the patio.  _Rum was suddenly unaware of the music filling the room, the lights growing dim except around the focus of his attention.  He realized abruptly that he was holding his breath._ _It was an unfamiliar feeling --  his body tightening as he looked at the young woman._

“Can you believe it?  That’s Belle French!  The chauffeur’s daughter!  That scrawny kid who used to whip around corners every time she saw us coming.  Her legs were always bandaged up.  How do you like those legs now?”

“Jefferson,” Rum began.

“Aren’t they something?”

“Jefferson, the last pair of legs that were ‘something’ cost the family a hundred thousand dollars,” Rum reminded him.

It was too late, Jefferson had already started moving towards the little brunette.

“Hello,” Belle greeted him breathlessly.

“You look wonderful,” he told her.  He’d thought she was beautiful in her travel clothes.  In the silken evening gown she was stunning.

“Thank you.  I’m a bit late,” she told him.

“I was worried.”

“Were you afraid I’d forgotten the address?”

Jefferson nodded.  “It did cross my mind.  Shall we dance?”

His father had come back on the floor having come up empty handed in his search for his latest paramour for the moment.  “Who is that girl?” he asked his oldest son.

“That, Papa, is Belle French,” Rum informed his father.

“I don’t know her.  Is she Loretta’s daughter?”

Rum wasn’t sure who Loretta was.  “No, she’s the chauffeur’s daughter.”

“Really?  Damn nice legs for a chauffeur’s daughter.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Jefferson has a mishap.  
> The family sends Rum to deal with the chauffeur's daughter.


	3. The Family

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Jefferson connects with Belle at the family's latest opulent party but his hopes for a passionate liaison are dashed by family interference.

 

* * *

Previously, _Jefferson is outraged to find that his brother had announced an engagement between himself and his current girlfriend in order to cement a business deal.  On his way out of his brother’s office, the aggrieved and aggravated Jefferson encounters an attractive young woman and offers her a ride home.  He is enchanted by the young woman and is astonished to discover her true identity – the family’s chauffeur’s daughter.  He invites her to come to one of his family’s over-the-top parties and she agrees.  Watching from the sidelines, Rum is struck with the young woman’s beauty and presence but more concerned that she may unwittingly disrupt his latest big business deal._

 

**Wednesday – Still that Evening**

“What a lovely party,” Belle told her dance partner.

“It is now,” Jefferson agreed with her, turning on the charm.

“This is one of the nicest ones you’ve ever had.  And I’ve been to all your parties.”

“You have?  How . . . ?”

“That tree on the edge of the lawn,” she pointed.

“Oh Belle, if I had only known.”

He danced her out onto the patio.

“Oh Belle, Belle, where have you been all my life?”

“Right over the garage,” she told him.

“Right over the garage.  Right up in that tree.  What a fool I was.”

“Oh, what a crush I had on you,” Belle confessed to him.

“It’s not too late, is it?” he asked.

“I don’t know Jefferson. Is it?”

**Wednesday – Still that Evening – The Kitchen**

“You should see Belle,” one of the waiters had gone back into the kitchen. “The prettiest girl.  The prettiest dress.  The best dancer.  So much poise, as though she belonged out there.”

“I don’t like it,” Moe was sitting at the kitchen table.

“Is she dancing with Jefferson?” Ms. Potts asked.

“She is.  He’s holding her . . . so close.  I don’t see how she can breathe.  And the way they are looking into each other’s eyes. . . “

“I don’t like it,” Moe repeated.

“Oh Moe, you ought to be happy for her.  This is what she wanted.  This is where she belongs,” Ms. Potts said kindly.

“No, it’s not.  Remember the chauffeur on the Nottingham estate?  His daughter fell in love with the son of the house.  And the first thing he knew, he was driving the family to the church, changing his uniform and walking down the aisle to give the bride away.  That’s not for me.  I don’t like it.”

“Moe, that was more than thirty-five years ago,” Ms. Potts reminded him.

“I don’t like it.”

**Wednesday – Still that Evening – The Dance Floor**

“Jefferson, Jefferson!”  the patriarch of the family had approached the dancing couple.

“Hello Papa,” Jefferson stopped dancing for a moment as his father converged on them.

“I don’t believe I’ve been introduced to this young lady,” his father said to him.

“Oh you have.  This is Miss French.”

“Maurice’s daughter?”

“Belle,” she provided her name.

“Lovely.  Been in Paris awhile, haven’t you?” Peter asked her. 

“Yes sir, I’ve been studying literature and library science.”

“Oh.  Well we have a collection of books at the office that need to be straightened out.  Perhaps we can talk about a job,” Peter told her.  _The older Stiltskin looked her over.  She had turned into quite the beauty. Not his type – too short -- but still very pretty.  Probably smart.  He didn’t care for smart women – they weren’t as easy for him to manipulate.  No, not his type at all._

“That sounds lovely,” Belle told him.

“Great, Papa,” Jefferson told him and led his partner back onto the dance floor, swirling her around several times.

“Oh Jefferson, this is so much fun.  So much more fun than watching from a tree,” Belle told her partner, enjoying herself immensely.

“I’m so glad you’ve come back home, Belle.  I’ll never let you go away again.”

“Never?” she asked.

“Never,” he repeated.

“Jefferson, would you like to kiss me?”

“Uh . . . would I?! . . . .uh . . .,” Jefferson was slightly taken aback by Belle’s forwardness.

“Yes, a nice, steady kiss.  Not on roller skates this time.”

“Roller skates?”

“You don’t remember?”

“I remember I had a pair of roller skates.”

“I was seven, you were sixteen.  You had your arms around me because you were teaching me to skate backwards.  Suddenly you kissed me.  Right on the forehead.  I’ve never forgotten.”

“Belle, let’s get out of here.”

“Yes, let’s,” she readily agreed.

“I tell you what.  You slip away first and then I’ll meet you at . . .”

Belle interrupted, “the indoor tennis court.”

“Yes.”

“And you’ll bring champagne?” she asked breathlessly.

“Of course,” he stopped and gave her his slow smile. “You saw a lot from that tree, didn’t you?”

“Have the band play something romantic, like _Sara,_ ” she told him.

“Of course,” Jefferson told her.

**Wednesday – Still that Evening**

Alice had come out of the ladies’ room with Mary Margaret, her dress dampened from the older woman’s efforts at cleaning off her dress after the wine spill.  They rejoined Rum who was still on the sidelines watching.  _He’d just gotten an earful from his Papa who did not approve of Jefferson’s latest peccadillo._

Alice looked around, “What happened to Jefferson?”

“Oh, he’s being the ever gracious host, but I’ll . . . uh. . .  I’ll get him out of circulation,” Rum nodded and stepped into the crowd.  He’d been watching his brother, the close talking with Miss French, her slipping away, Jefferson slipping two champagne glasses into his back pockets . .  . .

_This wasn’t good.  Rum was more than capable of adding one and one – it looked like Jefferson might be dancing away with a billion dollar deal._

It was only a moment before Rum came up behind his brother who was on his way out the back patio.  “Jefferson, you got a minute?”

“Well, uh, not right now,” Jefferson was anxious to re-connect with Belle.

“The old man wants to see you.”

That wouldn’t do. “Later.  He’s seen me once already this evening.  I’m rather busy right now.”

“You better come along.  He’s frothing at the mouth,” Rum told him.

“Crap.  What about?”

“Guess.”

“Animal, vegetable or mineral?”

Rum gave his brother a tight smile, “Definitely animal.”

**Wednesday Evening - Broken**

“The boy needs to be drummed out of the family!” They could hear their father raving as they went into his private study.

“What have I done now, Papa?”

His father turned on him.  “Listen, I’m not saying that all the Stiltskins have been saints.  There was a Thomas Stiltskin who was hung for piracy, and there was a Benjamin Stiltskin who was a slave trader, and there was my great-great-uncle Joshua Stiltskin who was shot in Indiana while attempting to rob a train.  Hell, I’ve done my own share of bad behavior.”

Neither Rum nor Jefferson made any comment.

Peter continued, “But there have never been a Stiltskin who behaved as Jefferson Stiltskin has behaved here tonight!”

“Exactly what have I done?” Jefferson wanted to know.

“What have you done?!” his father was shouting.

“Papa, remember your blood pressure,” Rum reminded him.

“No gentleman goes after a servant in their own house!”

“She’s not a servant!” protested Jefferson.

“She’s a servant’s daughter!  And in behaving as you have, you’ve embarrassed not only the family, but also our chauffeur!  I have too much respect for the man to ever intrude on his personal life and I expect you to have the same respect for his daughter!”

“I have respect for his daughter!” Jefferson countered.  “I have so much respect that I invited her to this party!”

“That’s going altogether too far!”

“I think I’m in love with her,” Jefferson told his father.

“Oh, you love her.”  Peter rolled his eyes and turned to his older son, “Next thing we know, he’ll lean a ladder up against the garage wall and elope with the little twat in the middle of the night!”

“Maybe I’ll just do that!” Jefferson told him raising his own voice.

“You supposed to be an engaged man!  Your fiancée is just outside this door!  And if that isn’t enough, shall I remind you of your record thus far?!  That ‘actress’ you first married.  Turns out her resume consisted of a couple of hemorrhoid commercials.  And then that model!”

“Hey, Tamara had made the cover of Sports Illustrated!”

“Apparently she only wanted to marry you to bring her family over from Whatsitland and they all needed expensive dental work.  And that last one . . . that socialite.  Her family came over here on the Mayflower and she had the audacity to wear on her wedding dress, not a corsage but . . . but . . .  a Green Party button!”

“Papa, you promised not to swear,” Rum reminded him.

“Papa, are you through?  There is someone waiting for me,” Jefferson was not to be deterred.

“I am not through!  Why would you think I’m through?!  Your brother has a few words for you.” Peter Stiltskin was indeed frothing.

“Well, I do, but I’m not sure you’re going to like them,” Rum spoke up quietly from the sidelines. “Papa.  I think you’re being a little unfair to Jefferson.”

“What?!” both men turned to Rum.

“Well, I think that Jefferson is old enough to live his own life and if he believes this Belle girl is the right one for him . . .”

“He doesn’t know any such thing!” shouted Peter.

“Rum, do you really mean that?” Jefferson was surprised at the support he was getting from an unexpected quarter.

“Of course I mean it,” Rum told his brother.

“But, it would knock your merger plans for a loop.  I mean, there would be kids with bad teeth that are my fault.”

“What plans?” Rum was conciliatory.  “The desalinization merger?  Forget it.  There are other places to get the algae than Alice’s family.  Hell, her daddy may still want in on the deal even if it’s no longer in the family.  If you love this girl, go get her.”

“I’m going to stroke!!” shouted the elder Stiltskin.  “You need to forget this girl and go out there and apologize to your fiancée!”

“Now Papa, don’t push him,” Rum cautioned his father.  “Why don’t we discuss this like civilized people.  Jefferson, sit down.”

“Thank you Rum,” Jefferson told him.  “I don’t know that I've ever appreciated your brotherly support more.”

Jefferson was about to sit when he remembered who was waiting for him down on the indoor tennis court and started to leave.

“Look, I really have to go.  Suppose you two work it all out,” he said.

“Do you want my help or not?” Rum asked him darkly.

“Of course I want your help, Rum.  I really appreciate what you are doing.”

“Well, then sit down,” Rum directed him.

“Rum,” Jefferson told him.  “You’re the only one in this family who understands me.”  And Jefferson did sit down in the chair.   There was a soft, crunching sound and immediately Jefferson began screaming in pain.

“Oh no! Oh no! Oh no!”

“What’s wrong? What happened?” his father asked him.

Jefferson managed to groan out, “Champagne glasses.  I sat on them.”

“What? Were they in the chair?”

“No, they were in my pockets,” Jefferson gasped out.

**Wednesday Evening - It’s All in The Family**

Belle waited anxiously, excitedly in the indoor tennis court.  Lights from the house came through the tall windows of the facility.  She walked around the court.  She climbed the umpire box and looked down at the two halves of the court.  She peered down from her vantage to try to see the pathway from the house to the court but couldn’t see it from her height, the ceiling of the building now blocking her view.  She thought she heard someone coming.  She started down the ladder but her heel caught in the hem of her dress.  She struggled, trying to lift her heel out but remained caught, unable to move.  She tried again, slowly lifting her leg, then shaking it while trying to disengage the heel.

“What are you doing?” she heard a strange voice.

Startled, she jerked and lost her grip, clumsy girl that she was, and found herself falling, falling backwards towards the hard court floor but abruptly found herself in the arms of  . . . .

“Mr. Stiltskin!”

“Are you all right?” Rum asked her, concerned, looking down at the woman contained in his arms.    It had been a while since he had had physical contact with anyone, much less a nubile young woman.  She felt very nice nestled there and he didn’t immediately put her down.

“I feel so foolish.  I’d climbed the ladder and then got my heel caught in my hem and then you startled me and . . . and . . . thank you.”  Her blue eyes held genuine gratitude.

Her response seemed to fluster him and he gently set her down, his hands lingering on her hips as he righted her.  _She was even more beautiful in person than she had appeared when he had glimpsed her across the room._

“Mr. Stiltskin, sir.  Why are you here?” she asked. _This was the scary brother, the stern, implacable, all -deals-are-final brother._

_Something was up._

He gave her a quick half-smile.  “You did order champagne, didn’t you?”

“What are you doing here?” she repeated, not sure what she needed to do, feeling the first stirrings of a rising tide of panic.  _Why was he here?  Where was Jefferson?_

“Jefferson sent me,” he explained.

“Oh,” Belle stepped back, wary.  “He isn’t coming?”

“No, I don’t think that he’ll be able to make it,” Rum told her softly, not enjoying her stricken look.

“What happened?”

Rum sighed.  “He got stuck.”

“Stuck?”

“Nothing serious, just one of those things.  So,” he walked back to the sidelines and picked up the bottle of champagne and two glasses.  “We do meet under the most peculiar circumstances, Miss French.  Either you’re under five cars looking for missing spark plugs or you’re perched up here umpiring a tennis match between two players who aren’t there.”  He opened the champagne with an expert twist.  He slowly poured her a glass and handed it to her, meeting her eyes, “You do look lovely, Miss French, very grown up.”

Belle was most uncomfortable. _So, he did remember her abortive attempt to off herself four years ago – she felt embarrassed by the desperation she had felt back then when everything looked so dark.  It was a moment she now regretted and was glad that he had interrupted things._ Other than that one time, she had never been alone with this man and it was . . .  a little overwhelming.   “I . . . I should probably get back to the party.”

“You’re going to leave me here all alone?” he asked maybe just a trifle plaintively.

She stopped.  “What did Jefferson tell you?”

“Hummm.  I don’t know what you did to him, but I haven’t seen him in such a state since he took an accidental drunken header out of a tree stand,” Rum told her, evading the question.  He took a sip of his own champagne.

“Oh really?”

“Oh yes.  Amnesia had definitely set in.  He’s completely forgotten that he’s engaged.”  Rum looked her in the eyes.  “He wants you,” he told her softly.

“And I want him,” she suddenly felt very brave.  “I’ve been in love with him since I was thirteen.”

“Well, well, there goes the engagement,” Rum told her and shrugged.

“You don’t object?” she was suspicious.

“Object? To you?  You’re like a candle in an ocean of darkness.  It’s as though a window has been thrown open and a lovely breeze has swept through this stuffy old house.  How could I object?”

“Even though the breeze comes from the general direction of the garage?” she pressed him.

“This is the twenty-first century, Miss French,” he gave her a small, gentle smile and refilled her glass of champagne.

“Thank you.  Why don’t we drink to that,” she boldly told him -- still watching him closely.

They both took a sip.  “I’m sorry it isn’t Jefferson here instead of me.  But it is all in the family,” he apologized.

After her third sip, Belle continued, “You know, when you walked in here, I was sure you’d been sent by the family to deal with me.”

He looked puzzled, “To _deal_ with you?”

“You know, like in a quaint Viennese operetta.  The young prince falls in love with the waitress at the rathskeller and the Prime Minister is sent to make a deal with her.” 

His eyes narrowed. “A deal, huh,” he said it as if such a thing had never occurred to him.

“Yes,” Belle explained.  “If she’ll leave the village forever, he’ll give her money.  He offers her five thousand kronen.  ‘No,’ she says. ‘Ten thousand?’ ‘No, no.’”

Rum nodded, “Twenty-five thousand kronen?”  He made his own offer and topped off her champagne again.

“No, no,” Belle said, taking another sip.   She was playing along with the operetta script and held up her hand to ward off the temptation.

“Fifty thousand kronen?” Rum offered.

“No, never,” Belle continued with the nonsense.

“Fifty thousand dollars?”

Belle blinked.  “No.”  She looked hard at him, “How did dollars get into this?”

“That would be fifty thousand dollars after taxes.  That’s a lot of money, Miss French,” he was watching her closely, gauging her response, looking for any evidence of avarice. 

“What are you trying to say?” she was wary again.

“Just trying to make things worthwhile.  What’s a krone worth these days?  No self-respecting Prime Minister would offer kronen.”

Belle narrowed her eyes, “No self-respecting waitress would take dollars.”

“How about a hundred thousand?” he had to ask.

“I don’t think so,” she leveled with him.

He smiled again, “Good girl.”  He poured them a second glass of champagne.  “Now, tell me how does this operetta end?  What’s the last act?”

“Oh, they all run away to America on a zeppelin with everybody singing like mad.”

“Open a brewery in Milwaukee?” he asked.

“Yes.  They had the love that made Milwaukee famous.”

“Then _prosit_ ,” he told her wishing her good health in Latin.

Belle was momentarily distracted by the sounds of _Sara_ wafting down the hillside, coming from the house.  “There it is.  The same song they were playing the night before I went away.  Jefferson was right here, dancing it with somebody else.  Tonight I wanted it to be me.” She sniffed.

Rum held out his hand to her, “It’s all in the family,” and the two begin to dance together, Rum slowly pulling her closer and closer _too close for someone who was merely a casual acquaintance,_ so close that she eventually was totally encased in the circle of his arms, one of her hands resting on his shoulder, the other grasped in his hand.  _Rum couldn’t help but notice that she smelled delicious – maybe it was her perfume or hair conditioner, but she smelled delicious._ He found himself unexpectedly enjoying the music, the dance, the girl.      

They could hear the singer, “ _And he was just like a great dark wing . . .  within the wings of a storm.”_  

Belle felt very comfortable.  The man was warm and she could feel the strength in his arms.  He was a surprisingly good dancer, guiding her, and leading her around the tennis court.   

_“And I think I had met my match.”_

**Wednesday Evening – Fragments**

Jefferson was bent, face down, over his father’s desk while the affable Dr. Whale, one of the guests, carefully removed the glass fragments, the shards clinking into the bowl where the physician was dropping them.

“How are we going to make sure that all the fragments have been removed?” his father asked, looking over the doctor’s shoulder as he operated.

“Simple,” said the doctor, a genial, attractive young man, better known for his heart surgery skills than his glass extraction abilities.  “We’ll reconstruct the two champagne glasses.”

“Ow!” Jefferson whined.

“Now I cannot possibly be hurting you. The real pain will come when I send you my bill for a house call.  Your booty has been totally anesthetized,” the doctor admonished him.

“It’s not you,” Jefferson told him.  “It’s that song.  Ooowww!”

**Wednesday Evening – A Kiss**

_“Sara, you’re the poet in my heart.”_

“Miss French?” Rum said softly into her ear.  She was snuggled up close to him, following his lead with no difficulties, their movements matched and synchronous, as if they were long-time, practiced dancing partners.   “Miss French, if Jefferson were here now, you’d expect him to kiss you, wouldn’t you?”  _He couldn't stop himself  -- because she was there and moving sensuously in his embrace._   

_“Would you swallow all your pride?”_

“Mmmmm,” Belle was lost in the song and the dance and the quiet strength of his arms and the effects of two glasses of very fine champagne.  Mr. Stiltskin wasn’t much taller than herself and she seemed to fit into him perfectly.  He was warm and comforting and smelled good.  She felt safe.  She felt relaxed. 

“Here’s a kiss from Jefferson,” he told her and lifted her chin so that he could kiss her slowly and steadily on the lips.  It was nice, very nice and in only a moment her mouth opened to his and the kiss deepened.

Suddenly aware of who she was kissing, she drew back from him.He gave her that half-smile of his and repeated, “It’s all in the family.”  

Belle leaned against him while they continued dancing but had to glance up at the man who was still holding her closely, perhaps too closely. 

The kiss, her response – it had all been unexpected. 

For both of them.

**Thursday - The Cold Businessman**

Jefferson was lying on his stomach on the sofa in the living room of the great house.  Within reach was a table with bottles of antibiotics and pain medication along with some water.  There was a knock on the door into the living room.

“Ooowww,” he answered the knock. In came his brother carrying something large.

“Good morning,” Rum told him, much too happy.

“Ooowww,” replied Jefferson.

“How you feeling?”

“I’ve never felt better in my life,” Jefferson replied a bit dimly.

“You look great.  Has the anesthetic worn off?” Rum inquired and poked his brother in the behind.

“OOOWWW!”

“Guess it has.  Well, I brought you a present.”

“Oh tell me.  What happened on the tennis court last night?  Whale gave me something that knocked me completely out and, if you ever told me what happened, I don’t remember.  Was Belle mad because I didn’t show up?”

“Not mad, but she was disappointed.”

“Poor girl.  What did you tell her?”

“The truth,” Rum told him.  “That the family objected to her, but you stood up like a man.”  He had begun to unfold the large item he had brought with him.

“Thank you,” Jefferson told him.

“And sat down like an idiot.”

Jefferson closed his eyes, “Thirty-two stitches.”

“Here,” Rum told him.  “This is what I brought you.”  He finished with the set-up.  He had put together a large free-standing hammock.  “This should make you feel better.”

“A hammock?”

“I procured one from some tent makers we have a business relationship with.  This one has a trapdoor,” Rum pointed out the butt-sized hole placed south of the center of the hammock.  “I designed it myself and had them sew it up this morning.  I had to guess at your arse size but,” he looked over his brother, “I think I got it pretty close.”

“So nice.”

“Well, you were in such pain.  Here, let’s get up and hobble over here,” and he helped his brother stand.  “Let’s try this on for size.”

“Oooww, ooowww,” Jefferson moaned with each step.  “I’ll never drink champagne again as long as I live.  What do you think of Belle?”

“Lovely girl.”

“Were you nice to her?” Jefferson asked him standing alongside the hammock.  “I hope you were nice to her.”

“As nice as I can be,” his brother told him.

“You’re the best brother anyone eeeeverrrr had.”

“You’re high on pain pills, aren’t you?” Rum asked him.

“Li’l bit.  I’ve been trying to compose a poem to Belle, but I can’t seem to finish it.  What rhymes with ‘glass.’”

Rum drew back, “You’re kidding?”

Jefferson turned and lined himself up, falling into the hammock, his abused behind going into the strategically placed hole. “I’ve got it!  How about ‘alas.’”

“Sure, that’ll work too,” Rum told him smirking but not saying anything more.

“If only Belle was here.  Could you smuggle her in?”

“What if Papa sees her?”

“Yeah, that’s a problem.  He’s dead set against her.” Jefferson mulled things over.  “Rum, would you do me a favor?”

“Sure.  Any time.”

“You’re the best brother.  This is a big favor.  I know how this type of thing bores you, but could you, would you mind keeping an eye on Belle for me?”

“I’d already thought of taking her down to Lake Lure and going out on a boat with her this afternoon.”

“Awesome.  In my boat?”

“Of course in your boat.”

“Great. Best brother ever. Tell Belle, that we’ll be off, just the two of us, the moment the doctor takes the stitches out.”

“Well then, you’ve already made up your mind?” Rum asked him.

“Absolutely.  This is it,” Jefferson told him.

“All right.  I just wanted to make sure because this has been ‘it’ three times before.”

“I was blind.  I was stupid.  It’s been Belle and I since we were kids.  I just couldn’t see her for the tree.”

“What about Alice?  What about Papa?”

“So what about them?  Alice will be all broken up but then she’ll return to her lab and invent a new medicine that cures something.  Papa will begin to openly drink at the office and threaten to exile me to the copper mines in Butte, Montana.  And that’s where you come in.”  Jefferson was pleading with his brother.

“How is that?”

“Well, I don’t wanna go to Butte, Montana.  You are gonna help me, aren’t you?”  Jefferson looked hopeful.

Rum’s eyes glinted.  “I am.  Yes, yes, I’m going to help you.”

“What a brother.”

There was another rap on the door.  Rum went over and opened it.  “Why hello,” he greeted Alice.

“Hello Rum.” Alice bounced in.  “Darling,” she spoke to Jefferson, “I brought you six books and a deck of cards.

“Books and cards.  I don’t like books,” Jefferson groused.

“When I say books, I mean anima porn videos,” Alice told him.  

“That's nice, but I’m in no condition to play cards,” Jefferson pouted.

“Hah,” Rum told him.  “That’s all you’re in a position to play.”

“Oh, you poor baby,” Alice checked on her fiancé.  She shook her head. “I still don’t understand what the glasses were doing in your pocket,” Alice told him. 

“I was going to try to entice you down to the tennis court and we could have a drink of champagne in the darkness, but my dear brother distracted me and  . . . I sat on them.”

“Oh, so sorry.  That was such a sweet idea,” Alice told him.  “Let’s start with the cards.  Now, what card games do you play?” she asked Jefferson.

“There’s more than one?” he asked her in genuine surprise.  “My dear,” he said sitting up as much as he could, “allow me to introduce you to a little game called Five Card Stud.”

“Cute name,” she answered.  “Join us, Rum?”

“No.  I’ve got to go sailing.”

“Yeah, he’s got to go sailing,” Jefferson agreed. 

“No more false moves now.  Not until those stitches are out,” Rum cautioned his brother. 

“Yes, Rum,” Jefferson meekly agreed.

“We don’t want any complications to set in, do we?  So long, Alice.  So long, Scarface.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> The song they are dancing to is "Sara" by Stevie Nicks (Fleetwood Mac). 
> 
> NEXT: Rum tries his best to distract Belle  
> Jefferson is unexpectedly amused by Alice


	4. A Day Out of the Office

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Rum schemes to distract and remove Belle.  
> Jefferson spends the day with his fiancee

_Intending to rendezvous with the enticing Miss French, Jefferson has been distracted by his brother who has maneuvered Jefferson into sitting down -- crushing some glass champagne glasses into his posterior.  Rum, with dark intent, meets up with the surprised Miss French who rejects his offer of money  (to cease her pursuit of Jefferson) but not his offers of champagne and a dance.  Relaxed, Miss French also accepts a kiss from the enigmatic man and is distressed at how pleasurable it is.  The next morning, Rum promises Jefferson he will “take care of” the delightful Miss French while he recovers. Miss Alice arrives to entertain a prescription drug-addled, disgruntled Jefferson_

 

Rum had left the engaged couple to head up to his own bedroom _while pondering the depths of the psychopathy of the men in his family_. _They all seemed able to lie convincingly and at the drop of a pin_. 

_Of course, he had to admit, the females they associated with weren’t any better.  Milah had certainly been capable of lying straight-faced.  She could even muster a few tears when the occasion called for such.  And Cora . . . he shuddered . . . Cora was even more coldly manipulative than any of the men in his family; he thought of her as a living heart donor._

He opened his closet door and found his father inside smoking a cigar.

He blinked and told him, “Papa, I don’t mind you smoking in my room, but not in my clothes closet.”

“It’s good for the moths.  I was hiding from that fiery upstairs maid, Babette.  She gives me hell for smoking.  Complains that she can’t get the odor out, that I burn holes in the carpet and the furniture.”  His father sat down at the desk. “Now then, Rum, what about that girl over the garage?”

“Jefferson wants to run off with her.”

“With the chauffeur’s daughter?  We can’t have that.”

“I don’t care if he runs off with the gardener’s grandmother.  But I don’t want him running off with this desalinization merger.”

“I’ve got a simple solution.  We could fire French,” his father told him.

“Not after twenty-eight years, Papa,” Rum gently admonished him.

“All right then.  We can keep this simple.  We write her a nice little check and tell her to forget about Jefferson.”

“Been there, tried that.  She doesn’t want the money.  She wants love,” Rum filled his father in.

“Really?  I thought they discontinued that model.”

Rum nodded, “She’s the last of the romantics.  _L’amour, toujours l’amour_.”

“But why?  Why did she have to pick on Jefferson?  Why can’t she be in love with someone else?”

“Well, we’ll do our best,” Rum told him.

It took Papa only a moment, “Oh, is that the plan, then?”

“Yep,” Rum answered him.

“You’ve got someone in mind for her?”

“Yep.”

“Who?”

Rum gestured with his hands, presenting himself. 

“No, seriously, who are you thinking of for her?” his father asked.

“Me, I’m serious.”

“Oh no,” his father was shaking his head.  “You’ll never do.”

“Whatsa matter with me?” Rum’s sensitivities were wounded and he held his hand to his chest as if it were a shield.

“Not you,” his father reiterated, shaking his head.  “You’ve never had any talent with women.  Money – yes – you’re a bloody genius.   But you’ve got nothing to offer a woman.”

Rum waved his father’s concerns off.  “Hey, you think this is going to be any fun for me?  I’ve got a whole desk full of work I was planning to do and I’m supposed to be going to Texas to work on that sulphur deal.  Not to mention the desalinization project gets put on hold until this is resolved.  But am I working on any of this stuff?  Nooo.  I’m going off on a boat to make an arse out of myself with a woman of what? twenty-one, twenty-two?”

“Well, I’m going to enjoy watching this,” his father told him.  “I only hope it works.  You think you can remember what to do with a girl.”

“I think I do.  It’s like riding a bicycle, right?”

**Thursday Afternoon --  On the Boat**

“This is glorious,” Belle was allowing the wind to blow through her hair, the fresh air heightening her color.  “Tell me again why you’re not at work today?” she asked him suspiciously. 

“I promised my brother I would look after you.” An honest answer.

“Oh dear.  Aren’t I being a terrible inconvenience?” she was concerned.  “I mean, don’t you have just tons of important work you’ve got to get done – deals to make, planes to catch, businesses to take over, governments to over-throw?” 

“I make my iron-clad deals on Mondays, do all my hostile take-overs on Tuesdays and over-throw governments on Wednesdays, so I’m able to take a little break on Thursdays.  Miss Gorim will manage anything that comes in,” he told her.  _He winced telling her this – Miss Gorim had not been pleased to cancel the three meetings and the out of state private plane flight he’d had on his calendar for today, especially when he was vague about when they could all be rescheduled.  He’d also had instructed her not to forward phone calls or texts and knew she’d be dealing with some irate business contacts. He needed to put a bonus in her paycheck or he would have to deal with ink pens that leaked ink, necessary office devices that were suddenly waiting on repair and back-to-back meetings with no food or bathroom breaks._

Belle seemed dubious but accepted his explanation.  “What is this thing called now?” she asked picking up one of the little boxes he had brought with him.

“An eight-track,” he told her.  “They were popular before cassettes,” he explained.

“Before what?” she asked him.

“Before CD’s.”

“Okay, I’ve heard of them. Cute song.  Why is she covered in whipped cream?”  She was asking about one of the eight-tracks.

“It was the album cover.”

“Like picture album?” She wasn’t sure what he was talking about.

“Record album,” he answered, the age difference crashing in on him.  “They used the same cover on the eight-track,” he tried explaining helplessly and without success. 

As they floated along on the smooth waters of Lake Lure, Belle closed her eyes listening to the light-hearted Herb Alpert songs.  “How is Jefferson?”

“Well, he’s been flat on his stomach for a while but he’s now flat on his back. . . in a special hammock,” Rum explained to her.

“I miss him,” Belle told him and looked at him in slight alarm.  “Not that I’m not having a good time,” she hastily added.  She put in another of the eight tracks and a soft tune began. 

_“You see this guy, this guy’s in love with you.  Yes, I’m in love.  Who looks at you the way I do?”_

“Miss French. . . “Rum began.

_“How can I show you? I’m glad I got to know you.”_

“Miss French,” he began again.

_“I’ve heard some talk.  They say you think I’m fine.”_

“Do you mind if we. . . if we turned this one off?”

“Why?”

  * _“This guy’s in love and what I’d do to make you mine_.”



“Because,” he answered shortly.

_“Tell me now, is it so? Don’t let me be the last to know.”_

“Don’t you like it?”

_“My hands are shakin’.  Don’t let my heart keep breakin’.”_

“I used to like it.”

_“I need your love.  I want your love.”_

Belle reached over and turned it off.  “Certain songs bring back certain memories to me too.” There was a pause.  “Did you love her?

“I’d rather not talk about it,” he said, gazing off over her shoulder. 

“I’m sorry.”

He looked back at her.  “It’s all right.  It was a long time ago.”

She regarded him closely.  “It’s so strange to think of you being touched by a woman.  I’ve always thought you walked alone.”

“No man walks alone from choice,” he said quietly.  “I’m a difficult man to love, Miss French.  I . . I met this other woman before Milah.  Milah was . . . rebound,” he told her.

Belle looked at him for a while, her gaze steady and anxious.  “As a child, I used to watch you from the window over the garage.  Coming and going, always dressed in those expensive three piece suits, carrying your briefcase and your cane.  I thought you could never truly belong to anyone, never really care for anyone.”  _She didn’t mention that he was still very obviously wound too tight.  He clearly wasn’t used to doing ‘casual.’  He had put on dress pants and a dress shirt for the boating expedition – apparently forgoing a tie was how the man embraced spontaneity._

He closed his eyes.  “Oh yes, the cold-hearted businessman, way up in his executive suite.  No emotion, just ice water in his veins.  And yet one day, that same cold businessman, high up in his building, opens the window in his office and steps out of a ledge, stands there for three hours wondering if he should jump.”

“Was it because of her?  The one that got away?”  Belle asked, her eyes wide and her voice soft.

“Oh, it was . . . it was my whole life.  The decisions I’d made.  The direction I was going.  Always choosing power and money over love and friendship.  Miss French, do you find it hard to believe that someone might want to blot out everything because it just hurts so much?”  _He wondered if she was buying this claptrap?  Standing on a ledge – hah.  No man walks alone by choice – that had just the right touch of angst._

“Not at all.  You know what I almost did because I was hurting so much.  It took me going to Paris to rethink my life.  Maybe, maybe you should go to Paris,” she added brightly.

“Paris?  Me?”  _There it was.  He could convince her to take his sorry arse to Paris. Yes, there was the beginnings of a plan._

“It helped me a lot.  Have you ever been there?” she asked.

“Yeah.  Once for thirty-five minutes.”

“Thirty-five minutes?” She had to stop herself from laughing.

“I was changing planes.  I was on my way to Saudi Arabia for an oil deal.”

She shook her head, smiling at him.  “Paris isn’t for changing planes.  It’s  . . . uh . . . it’s for changing your outlook.  For throwing open windows and letting in . . . letting in _la vie en rose_.”

He shook his head also, “Paris is for lovers. Maybe that’s why I stayed only thirty-five minutes.”  He took a deep breath and shared something he’d never shared with anyone else,  “I have . . .  seriously . . .  thought about retiring to our mountain cabin and . . . .”

“And what?” she asked him.

“Well, it’s probably a silly idea. The cabin isn’t Paris or anything, but I’ve always fancied if I pulled away from everything, moved away, I could do well writing – non-fiction mind you.  Strategies for making your business successful, pitfalls to avoid, the best ways to get financing.  Dull stuff, you know.”

“A writer in a mountain cabin.  It sounds wonderful,” she told him.  “A quiet life in a beautiful setting.”

He shook his head, “But it would be so lonely.”

“Any more lonely than your life is now?” she asked perceptively.

**Thursday Evening --  The Garage**

It was late when they got home.

Rum drove into the garage and let Belle out.  He’d taken her to dinner at the Tree Tops Dining Room where they’d both had pistachio encrusted rainbow trout before leaving Lake Lure. Somewhere mid-meal they graduated from Mr. Stiltskin and Miss French to Rum and Belle. _Somehow he preferred her calling him by his first name rather than his nom de negotium._  

 “I had a lovely day.  Thank you so much,” she told him turning to face him as they stood by the car.

“It was . .  very nice.”  _It had been nice – he hadn’t been expecting it to be nice, but he really had enjoyed himself.  Belle was not only beautiful on the outside but lovely in manners and attitude.  And he was beginning to feel dangerously attracted to her._ “Tomorrow, I do have to go into work.”   Rum hesitated, “I know my father mentioned the ‘library’ that we have in the building.  It’s actually a room where a lot of books and magazines have just been dumped . . . .”  He seemed hesitant, “Would you like to come in with me, look it over and see if you want to take on the job of organizing it all?  There’d be a paycheck in it for you.”

“I’d love to do that.  Pick me up seven thirty?” she asked.

“I will,” he promised and then added, “And I’d like to take you out for dinner tomorrow . . . if . . .if that’s all right?”

“That sounds lovely.”

He hesitated, standing very, very closely.  She was able to look deep into his eyes, his warm, soft eyes, brown eyes, with pretty golden flecks around the edges.  _Why had she never noticed how beautiful his eyes were before?_  Finally, he just nodded and turned to go back into the main house. She watched him until he disappeared from view before going up the stairs to the apartment.

Belle’s father was busy polishing his shoes when she came into their kitchen.  Jeff the cat had settled in next to her father contentedly.

“Hello Father,” she greeted him, stopping to pat the big tabby.

“We didn’t wait dinner on you,” he told her.  “We figured he’d take you somewhere for a bite to eat.”

“He did, Daddy.  It was lovely.”  Belle sighed. “It’s funny, Daddy, I used to be so afraid of him.”

“How was it?” he asked.

“Daddy, you’ve driven Rum into work for so many years.  What do you know about him?”

“A chauffeur’s supposed to keep his eyes on the road, Belle.  I would just get a glimpse of him from time to time in the rear view mirror.”

“If you looked a little longer Daddy, you’d find he was actually quite nice.  And quite human.”

At her father’s dubious look, Belle continued, “Oh I know there are plenty of people that think of him as some kind of monster, this ravening beasts that gobbles up small businesses and terrorizes his employees, but underneath it all, there’s a real, genuine person.”

**Late Thursday Evening**

Rum walked in to check on his brother.  Jefferson was channel surfing.

“Do you know there is nothing on daytime television?” Jefferson asked him without looking over.

“I didn’t know, but then I rarely have the opportunity to watch daytime television,” Rum admitted.

“There seems to be a mix of games shows, replays of old shows, or shows where people interview somebody else.  There are a couple of soap operas and some movie channels.”

“Uh hum,” Gold responded neutrally.  “How long did Alice stick around?”

“Oh she was great.  She hung around here all day and took care of me.  She brought me stuff to eat and drink and gave me my medicine.  Oh yeah, we played cards together.”

“I remember.  I remember, you were about to play a little poker when I left out.”

Jefferson looked serious a moment.  “You know I’m a pretty good poker player, right?”

“I do.  I understand you underwrote a good part of your surplus college funds with poker.”

“Hey, modesty aside, I’m damn good, even drugged up, I’m good.”

“So it was no contest.”

Jefferson pulled a face.  “Not exactly!”

“Really?”

“She said that she didn’t really know how to play.  So I get to teach her, right?  We’re making little bets and she’s losing.  She’s sooo bad.  She calls them ‘red’ cards and ‘black’ cards.  She can’t bluff.   She draws to inside straights.  No card sense, right?  Well, after a while we decide to up the bets.  She’s still losing most of the hands.  We get to one bet here.  I bet her that she’ll have to get me takeout meals from restaurants that I name for a week and she bets me that I will have to follow all doctor’s orders in regards to getting well.”

Rum poured himself a drink.  “So what happened?”

“I lay down my full house and she frowns – like I’ve got it all over her.  Then she lays down a pair of aces and tells me,” Jefferson imitated a female voice, “’All I got is a pair of ones. . .  and another pair of ones.’  And then she lays down the other two aces.”  Jefferson chuckled.  “It was at that point I realized I was being hustled.”

“Four of a kind.  Nice,” Rum sat down next to his brother.    _Alice was so right for his brother._

“How was your day?” Jefferson asked him.

“What you would expect.  Belle’s a delight.  I can certainly see what you see in her.  Refreshing, genuine.” _Sweet, kind, soft, gorgeous. Blue eyes he could lose himself in.  Caring, genuine caring coming off of her like a warm blanket on a cold night.  Not to mention a compact lush little figure that’d made his manly parts rise to attention.  He’d been uncomfortable more than half the day around the little beauty._

_If only she wasn’t a major stumbling block to the biggest deal of his life . . . well that, and if he thought for even a moment that she might ever really care for him . . . he could really start to like her . . . a lot. ~~~~_

“I can’t tell you how much I appreciate you babysitting her.  Have plans for tomorrow?”

“I have to go into work.  She’s coming with me to work in the company’s library.  Then I’ll take her out to eat tomorrow night.”

“Oh, I was going to take her to one of the French restaurants but figured that wouldn’t be the best idea.”

“I had the same train of thought.  I thought . . .  uh . . . something like Chai Pani?”

“Indian food.  Excellent.  Thanks so much for this.”

“Yeah, I’m a sweetheart,” Rum told him.  _No I’m not.  I’m a terrible, terrible person. I’m becoming attracted to my brother’s girl. And I’m trying to break her heart._

**Friday**

Rum had his plan all ready.   He had talked first thing with the very competent Miss Gorim.  There was a Paris apartment to be obtained, a bank account to be set up, stocks transferred . . .  and plane tickets to buy.  _His plan was simple enough.  He needed to remove Belle.  He would allow Belle to talk him into taking a vacation in Paris, then shyly (slyly) invite her to come with him.  Then . . ._

Two tickets – there had to be two tickets.  He would contact her right before the plane took off and let her know that he had gotten held up and would join her later. 

And later there would be a car waiting to take her to her new apartment and there would be roses in the apartment.  And he would let her know that he might have some problems getting away and it might be a week . . .  or more . . . before he could get there. And then something else would come up.  And then something else. 

_Yes, this would work.  This would absolutely work. She had friends in Paris and he’d be sure she had plenty of money – this would work.  She’d land on her feet.  She was brave and strong._

He settled back into some of the work on his desk.  Miss Gorim had tri-aged the materials from his missed work day yesterday into the drop dead urgent stack, the immediately urgent stack and the urgent stack.  He worked on the drop dead stack diving into it completely and totally, losing track of time – a typical day on the job.

He was stunned when Belle stepped into his office telling him he needed to take a break for lunch.  As he remembered from the morning, she was dressed simply --  in black leggings and an oversized gold-yellow tunic top.  She’d since put her hair up into what was now a messy bun.  As far as he could tell she wasn’t wearing any makeup.   She was stunning. 

“How did you get by Miss Gorim?” he asked astonished to see her in his office.  Miss Gorim was an impenetrable barrier, a bulwark that Forces of Nature threw themselves against with no effect, an impassable wall that no one _no one_ passed through.  In the past she’d held off foreign ambassadors, Home Land Security officers, and an irate ex-wife who had probably been packing. 

“She’s such a dear,” Belle remarked.  “We chatted.  I told her you and I had gone out on friendly date.  Do you know she comes from a large family, seven sisters?  She’s the oldest.  Mom kept their things separate by color coding everything.  Miss Gorim was assigned blue, and she still wears blue a lot. And also her birthday’s in September so her birthstone is sapphire.” 

He stood open-mouthed as Belle chattered on.  “She wears blue a lot?  No, I’ve never noticed . . . I didn’t know any of that. Really?” he shrugged and followed Belle as she began to set up for lunch.  It was at this point that Rum decided that Miss French must be some kind of magical creature, maybe a fairy . . . or a sorceress . . . or a witch.

Belle had spread a picnic cloth on the floor _actually one of the sheets used in the building’s infirmary_ and laid out vending machine sandwiches and vending machine fruit.  She’d found some sparkling water in one of the bottled water vendors and he was able to supply some ice from the micro-kitchen off his office.  Then he found two nice white ceramic cups in which to pour the water. 

“I know you don’t have a lot of time to spare, so I thought a quick picnic in your office would be just the thing,” she told him brightly. 

Rum gingerly lowered himself to the floor, his bum knee giving him some problems. It was not exactly comfortable sitting on the floor and the food was bland, although the company was enchanting.  It was worth it when Miss Gorim came in and saw him sitting criss-cross on the floor with Belle.  The sight of him sitting on the floor of his office next to the young woman seemed to fluster his unflappable administrative assistant and she backed out of the room, saying her business could wait.  _Her reaction made his difficulties with his knee totally worth the trouble._

_Miss Gorim_ was _dressed in blue.  He’d never noticed this before.  He hadn’t known anything about the woman’s background.  He wasn’t sure he liked knowing a lot about her – it made her . . . more human.  He preferred it when he could think of her as an efficient machine that kept his office going._

“How goes the ‘library’?” he asked Belle, re-focusing on his lunch companion. 

“Well, you were horribly right.  A combination of random piles, mostly dust piles with the occasional magazine.  I’ve been sorting stuff and sneezing.  What have you been up to?” she asked.

“Just working out a deal to close down a school so the children can work for a dime a day in one of my overseas factories,” he told her blandly.

She dropped the ceramic cup and it hit the marble on his office floor. 

“That was a joke,” he told her concerned about the look of horror on her face.

“Of course,” she immediately relaxed, even looking a little embarrassed that she had to all appearances believed what he had said.  She retrieved the cup.  “Oh darn.  I’ve chipped it.  I’m ever so sorry.”

“Should be, it was my favorite,” he told her.

“Really?” again she was looking all concerned.

He had to smile while he shook his head.  “Belle, it’s just a cup,” he told her taking her hand and taking the cup from her.  “You know, I actually do a lot to support education in these developing countries --  for both boys and girls.”

“I know that, I guess,” she told him, then confessed, “I think I’m still kind of nervous around you.”  She looked down at his hand that was still holding hers.

“Please, please, there’s no need for you to feel that way.  I want you to feel  . . . to feel comfortable around me,” he told her, his voice strong and slow.  He was very satisfied to see her blush before he let her hand go.  

It was a nice lunch, a very nice lunch, unexpectedly so.

**Friday – Early Evening**

At the end of a long day, Rum ventured into the ‘library’ to pick up Belle for their supper date.  He’d been making up delaying tactics all day long with his investors, not to mention the government agencies he was dealing with, all to postpone his desalinization project.  Once in the ‘library,’ he saw that Belle had indeed sorted things into piles; the room, previously a shambles, had been well and truly tidied up.  Belle greeted him with a beaming smile and asked for a moment to get ready to go out with him.  She ducked into a Ladies Room.  When she came out, she’d taken her hair down, added a belt around her waist and now had something sparkling hanging from her ears.  Maybe there was a touch of makeup.  She looked totally ready for a night on the town.

“How did you do that?” he asked her.

“Do what?”

“It was like magic.  A moment ago, you were dressed in leggings and a . . . uh . . . big, loose top and . . .  your hair was up.  And now, you’re . . . well, you look different.”

“Just a couple of accessories,” she told him.  She laughed, “And some very nice arm candy helps.”  She patted his arm while she locked her arm around his.

It took him a moment.  She was talking about him.  _She was talking about him.  That was a surprise.  He knew he was not as handsome as his brother nor as charming._

He took her up to Chai Pani, a local Indian restaurant that specialized in street food. They shared a meal of chaats or appetizers, including dahi sev papdi, samosas, chicken pakoras and masala fries.  Both got Lime Rickys to drink.

He watched Belle who’d gained experience with Indian food in Paris.  She regaled him with some of the antics of her former French roommates, her former classmates as well as her former instructors.  She also talked about the Baron du Reve and all the help the older man had been to her. He found himself laughing at her imitations of French mannerisms.

“You really liked it there?” he asked.

“I loved it there,” she told him.  “I think I would go back to Paris tomorrow . .  .” then she stopped.  “if . . . if it wasn’t for Jefferson,” she finished lamely, the light abruptly dimming in her eyes.  “I  . . . I don’t think he would like living in Paris.”

“I’ve heard Asheville is sometimes called the Paris of the South,” he told her.

“Yes, there are so many things that remind me of Paris, the arty atmosphere, the free thinking, the narrow little streets and all the restaurants and little shops. It does have an element of Paris in it.”

He had reached for hand while she talked and was holding it as she finished up. 

“You’ve never really been to Paris.  Have you thought any more about going?” she asked.

“A little,” he answered honestly.  “And I’ve thought more about the family cabin thing. If there is anywhere I might like to go . . . to stay . . .  it is that place we have up near Mt. Mitchell.   It’s quiet and calm and very beautiful. It’s perfect to get away from everything.”

“Where you could do some writing,” she said softly.

_She’d remembered, remembered what he’d said, one of few honest things he had said to her.  God, when he had talked with her about retiring to the mountains and writing, he had revealed something about himself that he’d told no one else.  Talking with her, he had almost believed it could happen.  He had plenty of money and this was something he wanted to do, something he thought he would be good at doing.  No more tense business meetings, no more impossible government guidelines to work around, no more complex, convoluted contracts to draw up and sign._

_Yeah, he really did want this._

The two sat quietly with him holding her hand for a while. 

“Hey,” he began.  “Tomorrow is Saturday.  What would you think about us driving up to Mt. Mitchell and the cabin tomorrow?  I might like to show you around.  We could do the observation tower at Mitchell and then drive back down to the cabin and have a picnic lunch.”

_Where was this coming from?  He hadn’t planned this but suddenly found that he really wanted to show her the cabin, the mountains, the whole peaceful venue._

“That sounds wonderful,” she told him eagerly. “Maybe we could do the climb at Craggy Dome?”

_A hike?  Up a mountain?_  “I could give it a try,” he told her, wondering if his knee would allow him to make the hike.

“It’s a terrific view and not very long,” she told him. “I used to do it a lot when I was younger.”

“I can try,” he repeated, very unsure of his ability to walk up the dome.

They drove home and again, after they had pulled into the garage, Rum met her on the other side of the vehicle. 

“I had a very nice time,” he told her.  She looked up at him.

“I did too,” she told him too. They were standing very close together.  “I look forward to going out with you tomorrow.  Sounds like I may want to pack some food tomorrow morning?”

_Standing very close together indeed_. 

“The cabin is kept stocked.  But bringing our own food certainly won’t hurt.  We could do another picnic.”  He found he was talking more and more slowly, more and more softly.

They were standing close enough that each could feel the heat coming from the other’s body.  It was dark in the garage. His hand was on her arm.  She looked up at him.  They were very close indeed.  His eyes glinted in the dim light. Her eyes were shining.

“Belle,” she heard him whisper her name and then he was kissing her.  It wasn’t slow and steady like The Tennis Court Kiss.  This was hot and messy and frantic, his mouth nudging hers open so that he could thoroughly ravage her mouth.  Her arms had gone around him, holding him, clasping him, and she knew she was kissing him back.  She felt dizzy and hot and completely turned on.  He was sturdy and comforting but  . . . as if they both suddenly realized what they were doing, they pulled back. 

They stood a moment awkwardly.  “I. . . I . . . I guess . . .  I need to go upstairs,” she whispered.

“Yes, I guess you do,” he was whispering also.  And he watched while she fled upstairs.

Rum went back in the house, checked in on his brother who again regaled him with Alice’s slightly off-color text messages that she had sent him throughout the day.  He shared _what he could_ about his day with Belle, as well as his plans for her for Saturday.

In his own bedroom, he stood in front of the mirror, looking at himself.

Could he loath himself any more than he did at this moment? 

* * *

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> The song is 'This Guy's in Love with You' by Burt Bacharach and Hal David and recorded by Herb Alpert.
> 
> NEXT: Rum and Belle begin to acknowledge that they have feelings (strong feelings) for each other.


	5. Interlude

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Rum and Belle continue to have guilt feelings.  
> They end up in a pivotal situation.

_Rum has spent two days with Belle and finds himself having second thoughts about his plans to distract her and send her back to Paris, away from his brother, away from the desalination project. He is finding her more and more attractive and more and more desirable and is beginning to have regrets regarding his plan. Belle herself, is finding Rum, the other brother, an intriguing, intelligent man to whom she is disturbingly attracted._

_Both are unhappy._

**Late Friday Night – The Big House**

In his own bedroom, Rum stood in front of the mirror, looking at himself.

_Could he loath himself any more than he did at this moment? This beautiful young woman trusted him. And he was using that trust to trick her. . . to break her heart._

_She was so beautiful, so soft, so yielding. He had kissed her hoping to incite an emotional response from her – oh hell no, that was crap. He recognized when he was feeding himself bullshit. He sternly told himself to quit lying – at least, to himself_

_He had kissed her because he had wanted to._

_Lordy, he had wanted to._

_And he hadn’t just wanted to kiss her. He had wanted to bend her back onto the hood of the car, lift up her skirt and push into her perfect little body, feeling her heat squeezing him and welcoming him. He wanted to watch her come apart as she found her own pleasure, and then, in what would be a moment of pure bliss, he wanted to relieve himself, giving her his seed in hard spurts of force and energy._

_He knew that she had kissed him back, melting into him, returning his kisses with untutored passion._

_He had thought, he had thought at that moment -- she just might want him._

He took a deep breath. _Not possible. No woman was going to fall for him. He just wasn’t the type of man that any woman would fall in love with._

 _Man up._ He spoke firmly to himself. _Keep your eye on the ball._

What the hell was wrong with him? He was jeopardizing a billion-dollar deal because he was concerned about this woman’s feelings. He was risking this deal because he wanted to fuck -- no – if it was just a physical attraction he could deal with it. No, he wanted to _make love_ to this woman, with this woman. What was wrong with him? He wasn’t going to give up his money, his power -- for her, for any woman. And falling in love meant giving up power – in one form or another -- he had learned that many times over.

_But he did want her. He wanted not just her body but her . . . everything._

He ran his fingers through his hair. He closed his eyes.

Maybe tomorrow, he could only hope, maybe it would easier.

**Late Friday Night – The Garage Apartment**

Belle stood in front of the mirror in the bathroom of the apartment garage. She had washed her face and was looking at herself in the mirror.

_Could she have less respect for herself than she did at this moment? She was supposed to be in love with Jefferson, but here she was -- having feelings for his brother. Really strong feelings for his brother._

_When he had kissed her, she had kissed him back, not because she was imagining Jefferson, no, no, she knew she was kissing Rum. She had so wanted him to do more, to run his hands up her skirt, to lift her up onto the hood of the car, to just do it. Her little panties were soaked when she had gotten back to the bathroom and she couldn’t deny she’d been aroused – not by Jefferson, but by Rum._

She took a deep breath. _Get a grip on yourself._

“You are not in love with Rumford Stiltskin. You are in love with Jefferson Stiltskin,” she chided herself.

_But she was misleading poor Rum, leading him on, making him think she cared about him. She was going to break his heart if she ended up staying with Jefferson._

She nearly banged her head on the bathroom mirror.

_But – she had to face it -- she did care about Rum. Of course, she cared about Rum. The man stirred her, the man made her catch her breath, the man telegraphed deep sensual promises just by being in the same room with her._

She ran her fingers through her hair. She closed her eyes.

_Yeah, she really did care about Rum – somehow . . . maybe . . . more . . . than she cared about his brother. Jefferson was still pretty and charming but he didn’t make her insides flip over and catch fire . . . and melt like his brother did. What she had felt when she was sixteen . . . it just wasn’t there anymore._

_What a mess. How did she get into this mess?_

Maybe tomorrow, she could only hope, maybe it would easier.

**Saturday Morning**

Early the next morning, Belle stopped by to see Jefferson, sneaking in through one of the back doors to avoid Peter Stiltskin, the cantankerous patriarch of the family. She did not run into him _figuring he was likely passed out in his bedroom . . . or someone else’s bedroom._ Jefferson was ensconced in the living room. This was the first time she had seen him in the peculiar hammock.

“Darling, how are you?” she greeted him softly.

“Getting better every day,” Jefferson promised her. “I’m actually able to get up and walk around a little. The doctor wants me up as much as I can manage.”

“Oh, should I stay here and help you walk around?” Belle asked him.

“Nah, thanks. I’m a real downer to be around right now. Plus, Whale has pulled me off the high powered pain pills so I’m going to be seriously cranky. You go out and have fun with my brother . . . if you can.” Jefferson became serious. “He is treating you all right, isn’t he?”

“Oh yes,” Belle nearly blushed remembering the impassioned kiss in the garage the night before. “Rum’s being . . . nice. He wants to take me up to your family’s cabin today. Are you sure I shouldn’t stay with you today?” she asked again _perhaps assuaging her guilt._

“You’re so sweet. But I’ll be fine,” he assured her _but he was also thinking that Alice had promised to come over and spend the day with him. He’d realized he was looking forward to Alice’s irrepressible and unpredictable behavior._ He couldn’t have the two women together.

Jefferson was surprised. Four days ago he would have said that Alice was the woman he wanted to spend the rest of his life with (despite Rum’s high-handed interference, he really was enamored with the woman). Two days ago he would have said that Belle was the woman he wanted to spend the rest of his life with.

_What was wrong with him? Was he just a kid in a candy store who always wanted – not what he had – but something just out of reach? Was he just an immature lout who didn’t appreciate what he had, who could never be satisfied? Alice was everything he had ever wanted in a woman – funny, clever and beautiful. Belle, well, she was all those things too but . . . she wasn’t Alice._

As Belle crept out the door, she encountered a pretty blonde woman who was lugging a large canvas bag.

“Do you need help with that?” she asked.

“Oh no. Thanks. I’m almost where I need to be.” She dropped the bag for a moment and introduced herself. “I’m Alice Lydell, Jeff’s fiancée. I haven’t seen you around before.”

“I’m Belle French. I’m . . . .” she hesitated. _The chauffeur’s daughter? the would-be fiancée of Jeff? the woman who’s having major guilt feelings about wanting to hump Jeff’s brother?_ “A friend of Jeff and Rum.”

Alice lowered her voice, “I didn’t know Rum had any female friends. Good for him.”

“He is rather difficult to get to know,” Belle had to agree. “What are you. . . “ she pointed to the canvas bag, “bringing in?”

“This is all for Jeff. He’s easily bored and the enforced inactivity is driving him crazy and, therefore, he is driving everyone else crazy. I’ve got here the grown-up version of a Busy Bag, what you’d have for a three-year-old on a car trip. Just different things that might keep him interested for more than ten minutes.”

Belle peeked in and saw a collection of books, games (some of which had salacious titles), some science fiction videos, junky snack food, magazines (definitely salacious) and some adult Mad Libs.

Alice sighed, “I’m hoping this will hold us today. We’re scheduled to binge watch _Stargate Universe_ in its entirety this weekend.” She crossed her eyes.

“I didn’t know Jeff was a science fiction fan,” Belle said.

“He’s not,” Alice grinned at her. “I am. I won a bet. It was _Stargate_ or anything of his choosing.”

“Sounds fun.”

“It will be. Every time Nicholas Rush gets his ass kicked – physically, verbally or metaphorically -- we’ll take a drink. We should both be on our butts before two o’clock. At some point,” she lowered her voice, conspiratorially, “I'm planning to lock the doors to the room and see what we might be able to manage together in that hammock of his.”

Belle nearly blushed. _But this was Jefferson’s fiancée -- of course, they were intimate. Alice was gorgeous and self-assured and obviously experienced. Belle felt unsophisticated and naïve in her presence._

**Upstairs**

Rum was up in his room struggling with his wardrobe. He’d never had problems putting together one of his sharp designer three-piece ensembles, matching up the suits to shirts and ties, even adding color-coordinated pocket kerchiefs, but this casual attire thing was tough. He’d managed to find a pair of jeans. He thought they might be a bit tight but he didn’t have a larger pair. He found a plain black t-shirt in his underwear drawer. He’d grabbed a leather jacket knowing the mountains could get chilly. He came down the stairs and spotted Belle talking with Alice.

“Alice,” he greeted her. “Belle,” he nodded at her. “I see you two have met,” he stated the obvious.

“I’ve never seen you go casual,” Alice told him. “You wear it well,” she smiled at him. “Listen, Rum – that hammock? Will it support, say, at least three hundred pounds?”

“I’m pretty sure it will,” Rum told her.

“Great. Thanks,” Alice told him. “Oh, I’m sure that’s Jeff I can hear moaning. I’ve got to go and see to him.”

“Do you need help with that?” Rum asked noting the hulking canvas bag.

“You’re a sweetie, but I’ve got it. Thanks. You two have fun.”

“How did she know we were together?” Rum asked Belle as soon as Alice had got around the corner.

Belle shrugged. “We’re dressed alike?” she guessed.

Rum glanced down. There were both wearing jeans and black tops, his a t-shirt, hers a tank top. He thought she looked better in the jeans than he did.

“You look nice,” he told her.

“Uhmmm, so do you,” she told him, her eyes lingering on the snug fit of his jeans.

“My eyes are up here,” he told her.

“I’ve seen your eyes,” she told him and giggled.

“Are we ready to leave out?” he asked.

“All packed up,” she replied. She smiled at him and they went off for an early breakfast at Waffle House. It was then on up the Blue Ridge Parkway. They stopped before lunch and Rum was inordinately proud of himself when he made the climb to the top of Craggy Dome (he had loaded up on pain medication before the trek – it was straight up going to the top and straight down returning to the car). They then rode up the mountain and did the short trek up to the observation tower at the top of Mount Mitchell.

They stopped before lunch and Rum was inordinately proud of himself when he made the climb to the top of Craggy Dome (he had loaded up on pain medication before the trek – it was straight up going to the top and straight down returning to the car). They then rode up the mountain and did the short trek up to the observation tower at the top of Mount Mitchell.

Afterwards, Rum put the car on GPS and they made their way through backways and dirt paths to the family cabin, stopping along the way at one of the tables set along the Blue Ridge to eat the very nice picnic lunch that Belle had put together. She’d packed some crusty bread, homemade pimiento cheese, a pasta salad, along with strawberries and cream and lemonade to drink.

By late afternoon, they went through a secured heavy gate which Rum shared was powered by solar since electricity tended to be dicey at the top of the mountain. They went up a winding gravel driveway and then burst onto the top of the mountain. They could see the cabin.

Belle had been expecting a two-room shack and was surprised _she should have realized who she was dealing with_ to find the cabin was actually a large dwelling with two floors, a wrap-around porch, and a large multi-car detached garage.

“When you said cabin, I was expecting some little two-room . . . cabin. This is a mansion.” They were out of the car and had gone on into the house.

Rum shrugged, “Well we Stiltskins do tend to go a little over the top. This place has a large living room, a full-sized kitchen, five bedrooms, I think, and at least three or four bathrooms. This is something my dad had built. I probably would have been satisfied with a little two-room cabin – a lot cozier. But . . . oh oh,” he was involved in switching light switches. “This isn’t good,” he was shaking his head. “We have a problem. The electricity is out.”

“Oh no. What should we do?”

He gave her a quick smile. “This happens a lot. Usually trees go down on the lines. We have backup generators. I’ll get things going.” He went out onto a back porch.

Belle spent her time going through the kitchen, examining the top end appliances, and then she walked through the large living room area, complete with multiple seating areas, including two sofas. It was a moment longer when a concerned Rum came back in.

“We do have a bit of a problem,” he told her. “Whoever was up here last must have used the generators and they didn’t bother getting an order in for more gasoline. We have no electricity. We have no back-up for electricity.”

“Oh dear. Should we just get back in the car and head down the mountain?” she asked.

“Well, that’s another issue,” Rum grimaced. “The car needs recharging. There’s a docking station here, but it takes . . . electricity.”

“So we call somebody and let them know we’re stranded up here?” she asked.

He gave her a tight smile, “Try it.”

Belle opened her cell phone. “There’s no signal.”

“Nope. Papa wanted a place that was remote and isolated and he got it.”

“Well, they know where we are. I told Jefferson we were coming up here. So sooner or later, they’ll send a car for us, wouldn’t you think?” she asked, hopefully.

“Or a helicopter.”

“Really! A helicopter!” Belle had never ridden in a helicopter.

“Well, in the interim, let’s take an inventory of what we have on hand. Would you take the kitchen and look for things like matches, candles, food we can eat, anything else you think might be useful? I’ll take the living room.”

They met back together shortly.

“The kitchen is propane powered so we can cook but we have no way to open most of the cans since there’s only an electric can opener,” she announced. “We do have a few cans with pull tops and of course, we have the leftovers from the picnic lunch I packed.”

“Well, we can get a fire going in the fireplace to keep us warm tonight. If we have to, I could use a sharp knife and a hammer and get into any of these other cans you want opened. It won’t be pretty but we can manage. I’ll go get some firewood and . . .” he hesitated. “I don’t want to sound like I’m ordering you around, but would it be a problem for you to see what we might be able to pull together for some semblance of an evening meal?”

“I don’t mind helping,” Belle told him and went off to forage some more in the kitchen. She collected her treasures and put them out on the countertop. Rum soon came in with some fire wood. He placed it into the fireplace and found an old Wall Street Journal to ball up and shove between the wood. He didn’t light it just yet.

“What did you find?” he asked when she came back in to the living room.

“Well, some good news. Still no manual can opener, but what we have are some tomato soup cans with pop tops and tuna cans with pop tops. There are also some mandarin oranges with pop tops and finally, I located some peanut butter that hadn’t been opened. And a box of unopened oatmeal, so we have breakfast. Oh there’s also some tea and sugar. I went ahead and put some in a couple of Mason jars I found. We’ll have sun tea to drink for supper.”

“That sounds pretty good,” he complimented her. “So we have both a supper and some breakfast,” he told her.

“Do you think we’ll still be here lunchtime tomorrow?” she asked him.

“Hopefully someone will be up before noon tomorrow,” he told her.

“Hopefully,” she repeated. She sounded a little worried.

“I’m pretty sure someone will come looking for us before we descend into anarchy. They know we came here.” he assured her with a smile. “In the meantime, I brought you up here to show you around. So, would you like to look around and see the grounds?”

“Oh please,” and she followed him out the front door. She stopped here and looked around. The scenery was breathtaking with blue mountains and acres and acres of rolling hills covered in trees settling below the outcroppings of the grey stone of the Appalachians. “I gather it gets pretty cold up here.”

“It does,” he confirmed. “It has snowed in every month of the year up here. Because of the altitude the weather is similar to Montreal, Canada.”

Together the two walked all around the property. Rum pointed out different mountains.

“That one over there, all by itself, is Pisgah. Over there is Clingman’s Dome, the highest mountain in the Smokies. And, of course, that one over there is Mt. Mitchell, the highest mountain east of the Mississippi River.”

“This is so beautiful,” Belle told him.

“I think so,” agreed Rum.

As they walked around the property they came to a scraggly herb garden.

“Ms. Potts put this in when she was up here. I think she picked some pretty hardy plants,” Rum told her.

“I see rosemary, parsley and this is sorrel. It can substitute for lettuce. That will be nice with the tuna,” Belle recognized many of the plants. “When was Ms. Potts here?”

“Soon after we built the place about three years ago. I guess you’ve been in Paris since before the place was built. There were a few get-togethers up here and my father brought Ms. Potts up here to cook for everyone. I think they consulted with Ms. P. about the kitchen.”

“Smart,” Belle observed.

Rum showed her all around the area, including a number of trailheads that led off from the house.

“This is wonderful. Do you get up here often?” she asked him.

“Well,” he hedged.

“Do you get up here at all” she rephrased her question.

“What? with no internet, no phone?” he shook his head. “I used to try to get up here twice a month, but then I got busier and busier and it became once a month and . . . well now it’s been a couple of months since I was able to get here . . . and then it’s only been for a single over-night.”

“So all you’ve done is business, business, business and not a moment spared for Rum?” she asked him.

He sighed. “I kept thinking things would slack off.”

She shook her head. “I know what you need to do. You need a real and for true vacation. If not here, then, maybe, a trip to Paris for two . . . . . . three . . . . . . four weeks. Yes, four weeks. Get away from it all. Reconsider the direction your life has gone, is going.”

He laughed bitterly. “Right. I can just pick up and leave.”

“What? Are you really so totally indispensable that the world’s economic progress will grind to a halt if you step away from the till? A lot of people believe that but then they work themselves into a heart attack and, you know what, life goes on.”

“You think I’m working on a heart attack?”

“I know you are. You struggle so hard to relax,” she counseled him.

“But I like my job . . . mostly,” he told her.

“You like what you do for a living?” she asked him.

“Yeah. I do. I like creating new companies, providing a useful product to people, giving people jobs, good jobs,” he told her.

“And you do it well,” she told him with a gentle smile.

“I’d like to think so,” he told her.

“But?” she followed up.

“I don’t like dealing with regulations, with incompetents, with all the arseholes.”

“You definitely should take a vacation now and then. You owe it to yourself. I would definitely recommend Paris to you.”

They continued chatting about innocuous things while he took the rest of the afternoon to show her the expansive grounds, including the helipad. Belle noticed it was getting colder.

“It will drop into the low forties, even high thirties tonight. It gets quite cold up here,” he told her.

“I remember – Montreal, Canada,” she said. “Let’s get back inside.”

Once inside, he lit the fire. Belle brought out the tomato soup and heated it on the stove. She’d found some Wedgewood for the tuna fish and the feral sorrel and had poured her sun tea into Waterford crystal glasses. She brought the food out to the living room where Rum quickly complimented her on the presentation and the food.

“Everything tastes better off Wedgewood and Waterford,” she told him. They sat quietly for a moment eating their plain suppers. “Alice seems nice,” she finally said.

“She is,” Rum told her. “She’s good for Jefferson. Won’t put up with any of his shenanigans.”

“Maybe. . . maybe right now isn’t the best time for me to be trying to . . . “ she trailed off.

“. . . distract Jefferson?” he suggested.

“It feels so strange. I’ve been in love with Jefferson for . . . as long as I can remember. It feels odd to just . . . drop it.”

Rum took a drink of the tea. “Maybe you fell in love as a girl, but now that you’re a woman . . .” he didn’t finish.

“But a person’s feelings shouldn’t change just like that. Am I that shallow? I really felt I was in love, really, really in love. But now, all of a sudden, I’m having these thoughts, these deep thoughts, about . . . about someone else,” she looked down and bit her lip.

“Maybe . . .maybe the Jefferson fantasy doesn’t hold up against the reality,” he said very softly and took the opportunity to shift over to her and place his hand behind her head, running his fingers through her silky hair. “Maybe you were blind and missed something that was right under your nose. I know I did,” and he gently leaned over to kiss her. There was a little bit of salt in the kiss and he realized she’d been shedding a few tears.

“I don’t want anyone to get hurt,” she told him.

“We’re all adults,” he told her.

Belle dropped her eyes. She took a couple of breaths and rather than reply she took the dishes back to wash them as best she could, heating some water on the stove to pour over them. She also put some oatmeal in to soak for their breakfasts.

**Saturday Night – at the Cabin**

When she returned to the living room, it was lit with soft candlelight. Rum had pulled the two sofas in close to the fireplace and brought down pillows, sheets, blankets and quilts to put on the makeshift beds. Belle had returned and was sitting on one corner of one of the sofas.

He broached the subject, “Belle, it’s going to get cold tonight. We . . . we . . . uh . . .”

“We may need to share body heat,” she suggested.

“Belle?” Now he was confused and stood open-mouthed. He had been thinking they might need to haul down a shit-ton more blankets from the bedrooms upstairs. _But_ w _as she suggesting what he thought she was suggesting?_ “You think we should sleep on the same sofa?” he managed to ask. _The sofas were pretty deep seated and either one could accommodate two people who didn’t mind lying pressed up against each other._

“I think we’re ready,” she told him shyly, looking up at him, then glancing downward.

He took a deep breath, closed his eyes and started again. _Oh lord, this couldn’t be happening, she couldn’t, she couldn’t want to share his bed! He had never thought that things would get to this level._ “Belle, I don’t want you to feel pressured here. I will respect whatever you want to do, of course.” And now he found he couldn’t meet her eyes.

“When I was in Paris, I learned that I shouldn’t be afraid of life, of experiences, of taking risks. I learned if I would do the brave thing, then bravery would follow.” She took a deep breath and took the plunge. “Rum, I’m very attracted to you. I like it when you kiss me,” she told him slowly and delicately touched him on the arm. “I was feeling guilty because I was supposed to be in love with your brother but I know now that I’m not. I’m not in love with Jefferson. I want you,” She spoke slowly but clearly.

“Belle, I like kissing you too,” he confessed. “And I feel guilty too, because I want to do a whole lot more than just kiss you but you’re supposed to be my brother’s girl. Belle, if you . . . I mean . . . I’ll understand . . . but I’m developing these feelings for you . . .”

Belle wiped away tears. _She hadn’t expected herself to start crying._ “Why don’t we plan on . . . sharing body heat,” she finally said.

“Are you sure?” he asked. “I mean, really sure about this?” He paused. _He needed things to be clear. He needed to be absolutely sure he understood what she was suggesting._ “We aren’t just talking about sharing body heat here, right?”

“We aren’t. And I think so . . . yes . . . yes. . . I’m sure. I want to do this,” she told him.

He sat absolutely still for a moment. “I need to find . . . get . . . something,” he told her and vaulted up and out of the room, leaving a bewildered Belle by herself. He had scampered up the stairs, pretty impressive for a man with a limp. When he didn’t come back down after a long moment, she went up after him.

She found him. He was standing by the bed in one of the bedrooms, dumping out drawers. On the bed were a pile of condoms. He looked up guiltily when Belle peeked into the room.

“What are you doing?” she asked him. There must have been thirty, even more, condoms on the bed, their shiny, colorful packets reflecting the little bit of waning light that came in through the window.

“I realized I didn’t have any protection and I . . . I thought it would be a good idea for me to get some and I came up here to look through my brother’s drawers and my father’s to get into their stashes.”

She nodded, smiling. “Think you found enough?”

“Uhm . . . ,” he looked over the pile. “I guess. Milah always told me a condom should be worth, at minimum three orgasms, one for the man, two for the woman.” He began rummaging through the little packets, picking out those marked as ‘large.’ “I think five or six should be . . .”

“A gracious number,” Belle finished for him. She watched as he pocketed seven of the little packets. Then he took her arm and guided her back down the stairs.

Once in front of the fireplace, without further preamble he pulled her against him and now he was kissing her again, holding her face in place while he took her mouth. _He was going to go through with this. He was really going to do this._ She was holding onto him, entangling her fingers in his hair and definitely kissing him back. Slowly Rum gently laid her down onto the bedding of the sofa she’d been sitting on. She was pulling at his clothes, running her hands under his shirt and helping him remove it. He had pulled off her top and reached around to unfasten her bra slipping it down her arms. Suddenly shy, Belle shifted away.

“Belle are you still sure?” he asked her feeling the change.

“I am,” she seemed surer this time. “Yes, I am. It’s you I want.”

That added gasoline to the fire. He began to slowly pull off her jeans and then her simple cotton panties. His hand brushed the padding on her panties – pleasantly damp. There was no questioning her interest, her arousal.

“Belle, my Belle, you are so beautiful.” He ran his hands over her. He stopped. _He couldn’t go on without one more confession._

“Belle, Belle,” he began, kissing her between words. “You need to know. . . It’s important you understand something.”

She looked at him, wide-eyed, innocent. _Oh so innocent._

“Yes?”

“I don’t know what you’ve heard about me.”

“Nonsense, really,” she assured him. “That you think morals are paintings on walls and scruples are money in Russia.”

He had the grace to wince. “But it’s true. It’s all true. Whatever you’ve heard. I’m . . . . I’m not a nice person. You need to understand that. You need to accept that.” He couldn’t stop one of his hands from palming one of her ripe breasts. He felt the nipple harden in response to his caress and his fingers strayed to tweak it.

“Why would you say that about yourself?” she asked him as she began to kiss him along the jaw.

“Because it’s true, Belle. I have done some dark, terrible things. I’m quite likely to do more terrible things in the future. For all you know, I’m doing some terrible things right now, at this very moment.” _He wanted to tell her, he had to try to tell her what a monster he really was. That he was using her, using her keep his power, his money._

_But he couldn’t, not quite, not entirely._

_Hell for breakfast! He was cowardly and greedy and grasping –every nasty thing that had ever been said about him was true, true, true._

_He wasn’t worthy of her._

_But at this moment he found himself wanting her, really wanting her, not just her sweet body, but her delightful mind and generous and kindly personality. He had not wanted a woman in a very long time. And she was available and willing. And he hadn’t quadrupled the family fortune by not taking advantage of opportunities. And he wasn’t about to let this chance slip through his fingers._

She looked at him a long moment. “I still want you,” she finally said.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> NEXT: Belle and Rum's relationship reaches a new level


	6. Wonderful

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Belle and Rum spend one night together (this chapter is mostly smut, so skip it if this type of thing is not to your liking).

_Jefferson is beginning to have second thoughts about a liaison with Belle; he is beginning to appreciate the treasure he has in Alice and thinking that he may need to quit acting like a spoiled kid.  Belle and Rum have spent a lovely day together but have been trapped overnight in the family’s mountain cabin.  Belle has expressed second thoughts about her feelings towards Jefferson, realizing these were likely a girlish crush and not the emotions of a mature woman.  The two have ended up together in front of the fire ready to spend the night together.  Rum has valiantly tried to let Belle know that he is a manipulative man prone to devious behavior, but she has let him know that she still wants him._

She looked at him a long moment.  “I still want you,” she finally said.

That was enough for him.  He’d have the devil to pay tomorrow, but tonight would be worth it.

He wasn’t expecting this, a soft, delightful woman open to him, his eyes, his lips, his hands.  She was warm to his touch, silky, responsive.

She seemed . . . a little . . . frightened but the brave little thing didn’t want him to know.  _He assumed it had been awhile since she’d been with anyone – it had certainly been awhile for him._

_Just like riding a bicycle, right?_

Belle was touching him, holding onto him.  He cupped her chin with his hand and let his thumb drift over her mouth. 

“I want you to close your eyes.  I want you to relax.  I’m going to take care of you,” he promised her.  She nodded and closed her eyes.  He gently kissed her on each eyelid, then her nose, then her mouth.  He lingered on her mouth, nudging it open so that he could discover the slick interior of her lips, the sharpness of her teeth, the timid muscle of her tongue.  He enticed her to explore his mouth and was delighted when she made a tentative attempt to return the action. But then her breathe caught in her throat when he laid a hand on her breast.  He had already brought her nipples to hard peaks.  He began to tease her with his fingers.

“You’re very sweet, darling,” he told her and began kissing down her neck, making his way to the enticing little nub his fingers had been pleasantly torturing.  He dropped his mouth on it, using his lips and tongue to suckle, pulling on her gently, making the nipple even harder while his fingers began to torment the other breast. And she made little whimpery sounds, soft moans of pleasure, that spurred him on.  She lifted her body to him and he felt it. Flattered, he whispered as many complimentary words as his befuddled brain could muster together.  He spent some time with the other breast but reluctantly opted to leave the soft cushion of her bosom and began to kiss his way down her stomach.

Her eyes popped open.  “What . . . what are you doing?”

“Tasting you.  You smell like an exquisite warmed cider,” he told her.  _That delightful scent he had first thought was her perfume or something she’d put on her hair, he had finally realized was her – just her.  And he wanted to surround himself with her aroma, her distinctive scent, her sweet, honey vanilla feminine smell._

She tried to sit up but he pushed her back. 

“Remember, I told you to relax,” he ordered her.

“But this is so. . . so . . .”

“Intimate,” he finished for her.  “Belle, unless you tell me to stop, we are about to join together, which is a close as a man and a woman can get.  Before we do that, I want to do this.  It will give me great pleasure and I think, I think it will please you . . . and it will make it easier for you when I . . . when I enter you. Trust me?” he asked her.

Her eyes were wide and she was breathing shallowly.  She looked at him a long moment.  “All right,” she finally answered him.  “I don’t want you to be disappointed in me because. . .  I . . . I don’t know what to do, what I’m supposed to do.” 

He slid back up her body so that they were now face to face.  “Listen to me.  You cannot disappoint me.  It’s not possible.  If our time together were to end now, I would not be disappointed in you. Do you understand?”

She nodded.  _He’d thought he couldn’t get harder but her little nod tipped him into a new level of arousal. He would tell her what he wanted._

“Belle, I want to touch you.  I want to touch your vagina and I want to touch your clit.  I want to touch you with my fingers and with my mouth and my tongue.  I want to make you come for me. Do you understand?”

She nodded again. _He had a moment of doubt if he were going to be able to manage not coming against the sheets before he had the chance to make her his own._

“I’m sure you’re going to be as beautiful _down there_ as you are everywhere else,” he reassured her.

“But what if nothing happens?” she asked timidly.

He looked at her a moment _she had evidently not been in very many, perhaps even any, satisfactory relationships_ and he had to smile.  “Oh, it’s going to happen sweet girl.  Even my ex-wife would tell you that when she said I had a talented tongue, she wasn’t necessarily talking about my deal-making skills,” he promised her with an unfamiliarly wicked smile.   

Belle took a deep breath and closed her eyes again. 

He was still smiling as he kissed his way back down her body.  _She had been afraid she would disappoint him.  She never ceased to amaze him._

He touched her first with his hand.  She was damp, very damp. As he brushed against her, she reflexively pulled back.  He permitted her that, but then simply laid his hand up against her allowing her to adjust to the sensation of being touched. He could feel when she relaxed and very slowly, very gently he began to move his hand around and around with some minimal pressure on the delicate tissues. 

It wasn’t long before she gave a little moan of satisfaction.  “That’s nice,” she told him.

“Good,” he said, already knowing this, his fingers massaging her swollen mound, which was becoming increasingly wet with her own desires.   Then he began to explore her, his fingers insistently delving in between the wet folds.

“Oh,” she said as he made contact with her feminine nub.  It was like a jewel, a small pearl hidden and protected.  He lowered himself and simply set his mouth to surround her clit, drinking in her sweet distinctive taste.  He tickled her first with his breath and then with his tongue and felt her harden and swell against his impertinent attentions.  His fingers had found her opening and, still moving slowly, he slid one finger into her.  He heard her gasp and could feel her tighten around his finger.  The snugness was unexpected and he had to hold still a moment, having almost lost control over himself.  _He closed his eyes and concentrated, concerned that he wouldn’t last long enough to experience her tight little  . . . no, he didn’t want to think of her as a cunt . . . he didn’t think of her as a cunt.  She was . . . something special._

He took a half moment to clear his head and then he moved to lap at her.  Belle’s hands had grabbed onto the blankets she was lying on, her hands fisted as she held on.   

“I can’t stand this,” she gasped out and when his mouth returned to her engorged clit, fastening on her, teasing her with his tongue, fingers, now two of them, pressed into her vagina, she felt things begin to clench.  Things got tighter and tenser and it was like a coiling of a spring, consuming her . . . and then a wave hit her, deep throbbing spasms, contracting within her.  She keened, her cry echoing, filling the room as the waves rolled over her and she rode the crest of the greatest physical pleasure she’d ever experienced. 

Her body relaxed and she dimly felt him shift -- first off of her while he fumbled with a condom, working as rapidly as he could to sheath himself, and soon enough, he was lying on top of her. 

“Belle, my sweet, beautiful girl,” and she could feel him pressing against her entrance and then he slipped into her, smoothly, causing her a single sharp twinge.

He stopped.

There had been a barrier. 

_There had been a barrier._

The implications of the barrier pummeled him. 

Good lord!  She’d been a virgin!  He debated, considered pulling out, but realized the damage had been done.  Instead he held her still, held her closely, pressing light kisses on her face, whispering bits of nonsense, telling her how beautiful, how desirable, how wonderful she was.

Belle had winced when he had first entered her but he hadn’t moved, allowing her to adjust to him.  It felt strange to feel so filled, so stretched, but she found that he wasn’t hurting her.  He was kissing her gently, soothing her, praising her.  _There had been no questions._

“Open your eyes, Belle,” he ordered and she did, finding him gazing down at her, his usual brown eyes almost black as he begin to move within her.  He kissed her and she found it odd to taste herself on his lips. 

She shifted trying to adjust to his size. 

“No Belle, don’t move.   I’m not going to last very long as it is.”

“But I’m trying to get . . .” she wiggled again and he gave a groan, his body straining and jerking as he released himself.

_She felt it, even with the condom barrier, she felt it as he released his life force into her. The sheer power of the act touching her, searing into her._

He collapsed on her.  She petted his hair, her fingers slick on his sweat as he gave into great gulping breaths. 

She liked it, the feeling of belonging, the feeling of having this very powerful man resting on her . . . _in her_.

With a groan he pulled out of her and rolled over to remove the condom.  He turned back to her and, with half closed eyes, placed a quick kiss on her lips. 

“I’d wanted it to last a little longer, but you were just too . . . too much,” he apologized.  “Next time, I’ll try to last longer.”  And he wrapped his arms around her and pulled her next to him.  She could tell from his even breathing that he had dozed off.

Belle lay with him a moment but then slipped away from him.  She felt odd, sticky between her legs.  She went into the bathroom and, using cold water, dampened a cloth and cleaned herself. 

She looked at herself in the mirror. She didn’t look different.  Somehow after such an event she would have thought she might be glowing or have wings or . . . something.  She’d just given herself to Rumford Stiltskin, someone she’d been afraid of much of her life.  She had so wanted him.  He’d been kind and gentle with her. 

And it had been wonderful.

Was this love?  What she was feeling.  It was different from what she had felt for Jefferson.  Did every virgin imagine herself in love with that first man? 

She didn’t know.  But she realized that she, if not already in love, she was well on her way to falling in love this man.

_Jefferson who?_

**Very Early Sunday Morning**

Rum stirred.  _Good lord, he’d fallen asleep right after he’d made love to the woman, like he was some old man or impulsive teenager.  Truth was, he had been more satiated than he’d been in . . . well, ever._  He reached for her but felt nothing, her pillow cold.  He panicked, shaking the sleep from his eyes and sat up.  The room was quite cold, easily down into the forties, maybe colder. He wrapped a blanket around himself and went looking.

“Belle? Belle?” he found her, sitting on the window seat looking out across the moonlit vista below.  “Are you all right?”

“I’m fine.  I’m wonderful,” she turned to him smiling, her eyes shining.  He relaxed.

“Good.  I was concerned that . . . I’m sorry I went to sleep like that.  I . .  well, that sometimes happens with men after they . . . uh . . . come,” he finished up shortly and awkwardly.

“It’s all right.  You were very kind and very . . . thorough,” she told him.

“You’ll get cold out here,” he cautioned her.

“This . . . what happened between us . . . this changes things, doesn’t it?” she asked him.

“I certainly hope so,” he told her.  “I’d hate to find out you were just using me for a quick fu . . . fling.”

“I’ll need to clear things with Jefferson,” she told him.  “How do you think he’ll take it?”

Rum frowned.  “He’ll blame me.”

“Oh, but that’s not fair,” Belle told him.

“Yes it is.  It’s true.  I decided I wanted you for myself and I used every weapon in my arsenal to get you,” he told her. 

“Eight tracks and Indian food?” she asked him, smiling.  “Wow, pretty impressive arsenal.  What girl could resist?  Tell me, did you send someone up here to empty the tanks on the generators?”

“No although, I wished I’d thought of that,” he admitted.  “Come on,” he reached down for her hand.  “It’s really cold out here.”

She allowed him to lead her back to the sofa which had grown cold.  He piled some more wood onto the fire and slipped in next to her.

“Belle, why didn’t you tell me?” he asked her once they were both settled in, cuddled up against each other.

“Tell you what?” she asked him.

“Belle?  There’s blood on the sheets.”  He wasn’t going to let this go.

“Oh, I’m so sorry.  I . . .I . . .”

“Why didn’t you tell me?” he asked her again.

“I was afraid you’d stop.”

_Would he have stopped?  He really didn’t know._

“I don’t understand.  You were a beautiful young woman in Paris for four years.  However did you remain a virgin?”

“Well, it wasn’t because I hadn’t tried to  . . . .”  She was lying against him, his arm around her.  “I was very, very busy . . . with school and work and studying.  I really didn’t have that much free time.  I did . . . I did meet this one young man.  Guillermo,” she smiled fondly.  “He was . . . so sweet, he made me laugh.  We got on very well and we were about to . . . about to . . . when he got a call from his ex-girlfriend.  She wanted to get back together, so . . . nothing happened.” 

“Why me?” he asked. 

“Because I . . . I . . . “ she couldn’t tell him she was falling in love with him. 

_She was falling in love with him._

_Could she tell him?_

“It . . . it felt right,” she told him struggling to find words.

She looked up at him and even in the dim light, he could see her bright eyes.  She was floundering.

He waited, but when no more explanation came forth, he kissed her forehead.  “I’m duly honored, Belle.  That you would choose me – I’m flattered.  You know if you had told me, if I’d had any idea, I would have prepared finer surroundings.  A real bed for one thing, champagne and  . . . I think the appropriate gift is a diamond bracelet.”

She sat up, “Don’t you dare!  I didn’t do this because I was expecting an expensive gift!  A gift would make me feel like a  . . . .  I don’t want a gift from you!  I certainly don’t want you to feel obligated in any way!  I don’t want you  . . .”

He interrupted, pulling her down and kissing her on the mouth.  “I get it, Belle.  You just wanted me.  Thank you.”  _She never ceased to surprise him.  The other women he knew would have expected some expensive gift, insisted on such._

She leaned in to kiss him on the chest.  “Thank you.  You were wonderful.”

He smiled indulgently.  “So were you, my dear.  Quite wonderful.”  He pulled her closer.  “I want to go to sleep with you in my arms.”

“Maybe you can be wonderful again in the morning?” she asked him shyly, peeking up at him through her tousled hair from her position lying on his chest.

“I’d like that.  I think I can see through to having my way with you again,” he gave her his half smile.

**Early Sunday Morning**

Rum lay with the delectable Miss French snuggled up against him.  _He was in turmoil.  This had all been a simple enough plan – get her to feel sorry for him.  Then he’d take her up on her suggestion to vacation in Paris.  Then he’d ask her if she’d come with him, but then, but then, he wouldn’t show up.  And she’d be gone and the desalination project would be safe and he’d have his money and his power._

_He’d never actually thought he would end up in bed with her – women didn’t end up in bed with him.  He never actually thought she’d care for him.  Women didn’t care about him._

_He had never expected to actually feel something for her.  Now, at this moment he couldn’t imagine his life without her._

_He wanted to wake up every morning with the delectable Miss French cuddled up against him.  He wanted to have her in the evening.  He wanted to have her midday.  He wanted to show her things and take her places and show her off. He wanted. . . he wanted her._

_Well, why not?  Jefferson had Alice.  He could explain to his brother that he hadn’t meant to fall in love, which was true, that it had just happened, which it had. He would continue to court her but soon, soon he would ask her to marry him.  There was the age difference, but he was in good health.  Certainly other wealthy men had married younger women; he was hardly a trailblazer.  There would be that awkward relationship between himself and Belle’s father but he thought the man likely wanted his daughter to be happy and well taken care of and he was more than capable of providing for Belle._

_Would she want children?  She was a young woman after all.  He had a brief flash of Belle, her stomach distended with his child.  The image was both comforting and arousing.  Yeah, if she wanted children, he’d step up to the plate._

_He settled in with one hand filled with her breast and the other hand resting between her legs.  He felt . . what was it? . . . oh yeah, he felt happy._

**Sunday Morning**

Belle woke up with it, the orgasm crashing over her, whatever dream she’d been having fading with the awakening. 

“That was nice,” she heard in her ear and realized the man had been touching her, teasing the orgasm out of her.  “I want you making all those little sounds when I’m inside you,” and he pushed her onto her back and slipped another condom on himself.

Still languid with the after effects of the orgasm and not quite awake, she was a little shocked to find how easily her body accepted his. He pushed in, perhaps half his length, and stopped, again sweetly allowing her time to adjust, to accept him.  He pulled her legs up and she wrapped them around his waist.  He dropped a hand between them and she suddenly felt intense stimulation as he thrust more and more of himself into her, at first slowly, then rapidly, hard and powerful and the now familiar tightness began to coil deep within her.  The stimulation was constant and felt sooo good.  She gave herself over to it, lifting herself as she could to accept each hard, pressuring movement from the man.  That same delicious coiling feeling she had felt the previous evening began again, building surely and irrevocably. 

“Rum!” she cried as she spasmed around him.  He didn’t stop, continuing to pummel her and, incredibly, the coiling began again, almost immediately, this time tighter and stronger than what she had felt before.  She realized she was holding her breath as her body broke.  The intensity of this third orgasm overcame her and she knew she was screaming again, her whole body shaking with the force of her release.  She vaguely heard him shouting a moment later and then his body stilled above hers. 

She felt him kissing her.  “You are so beautiful when you come,” he told her.

“Really?  It’s a little embarrassing.  I don’t mean to scream like I’ve been doing,” she spoke into his shoulder. 

“It’s rather flattering,” he told her, holding her close as she was trembling. 

“But it’s so . . .  unladylike,” she said blushing, clinging to him.

He had to chuckle.  “So, you’re a very naughty librarian.  Imagine my surprise  . . . and delight.”  He was still planting kisses along her forehead.  He was satisfied to just hold her, allowing her time to recover.

Belle relished his heat and the now familiar blending of their individual scents.  She sighed.  “I guess we have to get up.”

“We do need to replenish ourselves.  We used a lot of energy last night and again this morning,” he agreed.

Belle stretched and slipped a leg out from the covers.  “Whoa, it really is cold.”  She reached down and found her panties and bra, slipping them on keeping her back to Rum.  It was a shy gesture and it touched him.

She pulled on her jeans and her tank top and then found her jacket.  Then came her socks and shoes. 

“I’ll see if the oatmeal is fit for us to eat,” she told him stopping to put another log on the fire.

He dressed once she had left the room, feeling relaxed and satisfied, and not just a little smug.   _Maybe they could move up here.  He just might get that life as a writer that he’d pipe-dreamed of having.  Of course, he’d want to install some additional backup energy providers – more solar panels, perhaps some wind generators.  And get some way to communicate with the outside world.  He could make a call and get a cell tower put up, even if he had to donate a piece of property. This would be a great place to write and do some of the quieter activities he’d envisioned himself getting into one day._

_But perhaps she wouldn’t want to live so far removed from civilization.  She was a young woman.  She might want to live in town . . . or, he thought suddenly, in Paris.  She had loved Paris._

_He was almost certain that Stiltskin Inc. had some property in Paris, and if he turned out to be wrong, hell, they could buy some.  He knew Stiltskin, Inc. had a number of overseas interests.  He’d have to make some calls and check into it.  He already had made arrangements for that little apartment on St. Michel.  Perhaps he should upgrade it to a really nice apartment in the Tracodera District.  Or maybe something bigger in the Latin Quarter, Belle would like that._

_They could spend six months in Paris and six months in the mountains.  That could work._

He looked up when Belle returned carrying a tray with a variety of items on it.  “It seems to be edible,” she announced putting a cup of oatmeal in front of him. “These are some raisins that I put into soak and a little brown sugar – no cinnamon, I’m afraid.  No coffee but I found some of these packets of instant cocoa.  Would you like one?”

He nodded and watched her prep the remainder of breakfast.  “You are amazing, you know that?” he asked her.

“What?!” 

“You’re treating this as an adventure and almost seem to be enjoying yourself.”

“I am enjoying myself.  It’s not like we’re going to starve or be up here forever.  Right now, I’ve got food, heat, pleasant company.  What more does a girl need?”

“You tell me.” He dove into the oatmeal.

“Well, maybe a hot bath, a change of clothes, some way to check my email.”

Rum thought a moment.  “Wait a minute.  I think I can get you two out of three.  I’ve got a place we’ll want to look for when we finish up breakfast.  But I don’t want to get your hopes up.”

“Which is it, a hot bath and a change of clothes, I hope?”

“You’ll see,” he told her, “Patience.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Next chapter will be The Morning After and all that comes with the light of day and away from the thin mountain air.


	7. Back Down to Earth

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Rum and Belle are rescued off the mountain. Things are reconsidered and decisions are made.

_After a pleasant day out, Rum and Belle have been trapped in the family cabin and spent a passionate night together.  Rum has begun to consider seriously the vacation in Paris and retiring to the mountain cabin to write.  Everything feels just perfect._

**Sunday Morning – Desoris Lane**

“What do you mean they haven’t come home?” Jefferson asked.  “They were due back last night!”  He’d spent a delightful Saturday with his fiancée and really hadn’t given his brother and would-be paramour a second thought until Sunday morning.

“His Tesla hasn’t shown up.  Neither one is answering their phone.  We have no idea where they might be.”  It was Maurice French sharing his concerns with Jefferson. 

Jefferson racked his brain, trying to cut through the fog of his morning pain and the mild hangover that was the result from last night's indiscretions.  “I believe they were going up to Mount Mitchell – maybe the cabin?”

Alice, after spending some pleasant time with her fiancé in his amazing swinging hammock, had spent the night on a sofa in the living room, lying near to Jefferson.  She was now up and wide awake.  “Do we need to alert the police?”

“They won’t be treated like missing persons because they haven’t been gone for twenty-four hours,” Jefferson told her.  “But I’ll make a call and ask the police to keep a lookout.  Rum is sufficiently important that they’ll oblige.”  He considered.  “Pretty certain they may have been heading to the family’s cabin that’s in that area.  That place is out of range for cell phone service.”

“How do we check if they’re there?” Alice asked him.

“We could send a car . . . or . . .  better yet, we send a helicopter up for them,” Jefferson was already on the phone.  “Morning, David.   Hate to call you this early, but we’re having a bit of crisis.  Rum has disappeared and we’re thinking he may be stranded up at the cabin.  . . .  Yeah, I hate to pull you away from the wife and new baby but could you fly us up there? . . . . . . .   Keep your phone on.  I’ll call you if we hear anything before you get here . . . . . . . thanks.”

Jefferson looked up at Alice and Maurice.  “I’ve called David Nolen.  He’s on his way here.  Whenever we need a pilot he’s the first person we call,” he said to Alice.

Maurice looked at Alice and explained further, “Mr. Nolen flew combat missions while he was in the military.  He’s licensed to fly anything that can fly.”

“Great. So we’re headed up the mountain?” Alice asked.

“If Rum didn’t have the car charged up, and something happened to the electricity at the cabin, they may not have had a way off,” surmised Jefferson.  “Maurice, I’ve got your cell number.  I’ll call you the minute we know something.”

“Thank you, sir,” Maurice told him and left the two together.

Alice turned on Jefferson once Maurice was out of hearing range.  “Do you mean, Rum could have taken that young woman up to the cabin and then say he’d run out of gas?”

“Sorta, yeah,” admitted Jefferson. 

“That sounds like something a high school student would do with his date. Do you think he planned it?”

“No,” Jefferson said quickly _although he well recognized that his brother’s convoluted, deceptive mind would be well capable of such a thing if there might be profit in it_.  “I don’t think he has genuine feelings for Miss French.  I think he’s just babysitting her for a time, while she gets her bearings.  She's just got back from Paris where she was going to school.”

“Oh, I don’t know about that,” Alice told him.  “I talked with her yesterday morning and watched him when he talked with her.”

“What did you see?” Jefferson was certainly on high alert.

“Well, her eyes lit up when he came in the room.  As for Rum . . .  it’s hard to describe . . . he’s _softer_ when he talks to her.  There’s definitely something between those two.”

“But he’s old enough to be her father!” Jefferson protested.

Alice looked at him and smirked.  “Do you know if his dick still works?” she asked.

“Alice!” Jefferson was scandalized on several fronts. 

“We-ell,” she responded slowly.  “Your brother’s a hot guy and he’s rich – I can certainly see the appeal from Belle’s side.  And  . . . well, you’ve seen Belle – she’s adorable and just a gorgeous as she can be.  The girl can’t help herself.  Why shouldn’t they be a couple?”

“It’s my brother!   I mean, he’s not felt _that way_ about a woman in . . . years. And what do you mean, ‘he’s a hot guy’?”

“Hot?  The man’s smokin’.” Alice looked at Jefferson’s forlorn face and relented, “Aw, poor baby.  I’d think you’d be happy about him finding somebody.  It should loosen him up some.  From everything I’ve seen, he’s so tight, he’s twitchy.”

Jefferson sat fuming.  Alice was right and if it had been with any other female, Jefferson would be happy about his brother – but this was Belle.  And Jefferson wanted Belle. 

Truth be told, he wanted Alice also.  She had proven to be smart and sassy and sexy as hell. 

_And now he was confused.  There was no way he would be able to keep both women._

He wondered what Belle was wanting.

**Mid-Morning Sunday**

David was at the house in short order and Jefferson was debating if he wanted to go up in the chopper to help look for his brother. 

“I think you need at least another day before you try sitting.  A car ride you might could manage, but not a helicopter,” Alice advised him.  “I’ll go with Mr. Nolen.  You stay here and take phone calls. We can keep in touch and then you can let Maurice know what’s up.”  She kissed him on the mouth and headed out with Nolen who looked back at Jefferson and grinned. 

“She’s a take-charge woman, isn’t she?” Nolen said.  “I’m married to a take-change woman myself, Jeff.  There are some definite benefits,” he assured the younger man.

“Yeah,” Jefferson was sulky.  He settled back down in his hammock.  He wasn’t in nearly the pain he’d been in, but he still had to be careful.  It chaffed that he wasn’t the one flying off to rescue Belle.

**Mid-Morning Sunday – The Family Cabin**

Rum had rummaged around in the upstairs bedrooms and found some clothes: things like silk pajamas, sweatpants, and t-shirts.  Belle picked out some of the sweatpants and a clean t-shirt for herself, as did Rum.  He then took Belle to a place on one of the spacious outside decks.  He went right up to a hot tub, pulling the lid off of it.   It had been emptied and cleaned so it was ready to use.  He turned on the water.

Belle tentatively put her hand in the spray.  “It’s warm.  Oh my! It’s hot!” she exclaimed.

“Yeah.  One of the few times that they went with one of my suggestions.   It uses a proto-type solar powered tankless water heater.  We can get some soap from the house and get proper baths,” he told her.

“I’m so ready,” she told him.  “Let’s get some towels and find that soap.”

While the tub was filling, Belle and Rum searched through the bathrooms to find things they could use.  Rum found some heavy robes for when they got out of the tub.  He guessed the outdoor temperature was in the fifties – cool enough.  He also found some tequila and margarita mix.  No ice but he figured it didn’t matter.  He fixed two drinks and set them on the side of the tub.

Belle had added some bubble bath to the tub – Rum assumed that had been one of his brother’s additions to the bathroom supplies.  And Belle was adding it for modesty’s sake.

He pulled off his clothes without a second thought and eased his way into the hot water.  Belle stood on the side. 

“Are you getting in?” he finally asked.  “It’s quite comfortable.”

“I . . . I’ve just never been . . .  you know, naked . . .  outside . . . with anybody.”

“Would it help if I closed my eyes?” he asked, stifling a laugh.

“Yes,” she told him. 

He complied, not quite hiding his smile and doing his best not to peek as she slipped off her clothes – but he didn’t quite succeed in curbing his impulse to catch a glimpse of her perfectly shaped form.  Soon enough she was sitting next to him in the hot tub, enjoying the bubbling water. 

“You know you have nothing to be ashamed of,” he told her as she snuggled up close to him.

She blushed and accepted the margarita from him.   “This is nice,” she told him.

“I couldn’t agree more,” he shifted her so that she was sitting in front of him, her back to his front.  “And you don’t know the half of it,” he told her.  He reached to the side and began to make adjustments on the dials that were set on the wide rim of the tub.

“Oh!” she exclaimed as she got hit by one of the soft thumping jets. 

“Yeah, we can turn these up from soft to hard to why-bother-with-a-man,” he told her and he set an arm around her waist to hold her in place.  He gently positioned her to be on the receiving end of one of the lower placed jets.

He slowly kissed her down the side of her neck and he could feel her shivering, not, he thought pleasantly, because of the cold air, but because of his attentions.  He deliberately dropped his hand between her legs and began to gently massage her.   He murmured sweet, encouraging, flattering words.  _She was so beautiful, so responsive, so desirable._

“Rum, this is too much.  I don’t know. . .  I don’t think I can take this . . . “  He felt her relaxing against him, closing her eyes to enjoy the multitude of sensations he was providing her. 

He heard it in the background. 

The helicopter.

It was flying in. 

_Damn, the worst timing ever_.  Belle came apart for him, crying out, her body jerking as she yielded to him.  He noted the helicopter veered off.

“Belle, Belle, my sweet,” he whispered to her.

“Hmmm?” she was still soft and pliable in his arms, still in the afterglow of the orgasm he’d just handed her.

“The helicopter’s come.  We need to get out and get dressed,” he told her gently. 

“Wha?!”  She blinked awake.  “How do you know?  Did you hear them?”

“Heard and saw.  They flew overhead.”

“Then they . . . “ Belle blushed, her entire body flushing.  “Oh, my . . . “

“Let’s get dressed before they come looking for us,” he told her

“Oh yes.  That does sound like a good idea,” she replied and hurriedly pulled herself out of the tub, toweled herself off and dragged on the clean clothing, struggling to get it on her still damp body.

Soon enough, David Nolen and Alice came around the corner of the house, having walked down from the helipad.  Alice was waving at them.

“You two all right?” Alice asked.

“Very much all right,” Rum told her.  “We got up here only to find there was no electricity and no gas for the backup generators.  Without a phone signal, there was no way to communicate to the outside world.”

“That’s what we figured when you two didn’t come back,” Nolen told them.  “We’d checked with highway patrol and there hadn’t been any accidents reported up in this area and then we learned that the power was out, so we thought that you two might have gotten stranded.”

“We did fine for one night.  We had food and a log fire,” Rum told them.

“And a hot tub!” Alice noted, resting her hand in the steamy water.   Rum was already letting the water drain out. 

“We have a few of our things to get together and we’ll be ready to go,” Belle told them and started back to the house.  The other three followed her.

“Trapped overnight in an isolated mansion on a cold night,” Alice muttered to Rum as she walked along side of him.  “And then . . . this morning -- a hot tub and no swimming suits.  Couldn’t have worked out better if you’d planned it.”

“I assure you I didn’t,” he said to her. 

Alice looked at him, her pale blue eyes wide, “Su-ure, I believe that,” she told him sweetly.  “Of course, I believe in Jabberwocks and trips down rabbit holes.”

Rum managed to glare at the woman, but _at the same time,_ he appreciated the woman’s uncanny insights.

The four flew back to the estate with Alice calling Jefferson as soon as they had a signal to let everyone know that Belle and Rum were all right. 

Jefferson was waiting for them when Alice, Rum, and Belle came flying in.  He was standing up, although struggling to walk and to sit. 

Belle and Rum first went to the kitchen to fix everyone an early lunch. 

Alice stayed back to check on Jefferson, helping him back to his hammock.  Belle and Rum soon joined them, bringing out a couple of burgers with the fixings for everyone to share.  The four sat around the study which had become Jefferson’s new home.   They began sharing stories, Alice telling Belle a delightful story about how she had met Jefferson (at some horrible birthday party for some little society dormouse) and some of the antics he had gotten into during their first few weeks of dating.  While she talked, Jefferson watched his brother and his would-be paramour. 

_There was definitely something going on here.  His brother was being nice.  Jefferson had never known Rum to be nice.  And Belle, she was turning that special look of hers  . . . on Rum._

_So much for his brother looking out for him._

_Jefferson took a guilty glance at Alice._

_What to do about Alice?_

_She really was terrific.  The more time he spent with her, the more he liked her – really, really liked her, maybe more than liked her, definitely more than liking her._

_What to do about Belle?_

_Jefferson was wise enough in the ways of women to realize that it was likely no longer his decision._

**Desoris Lane – Late Sunday Night**

Rum stood looking at himself in the mirror.  “Papa, get out of my closet.” He had smelled cigar smoke again.  “You’re making my clothes stink.”

“I’ve told you it’s good for the moths,” his father told him stepping out of the closet.  “How’s it going with that chauffeur’s daughter?”

 Rum considered, “Pretty well.  I think I’ve got her off Jefferson.”

“Great.  When will you be back on the job?  I swear, the economic progress of the country is grinding to a halt without you at the till.”

“Soon.  I’ve just got the final send-off to set up.”

“Really.  What are you going to do?”

“I’m going to send her back to Paris.”

“Great.  So this is just costing us a plane ticket?”

“Not exactly,” Rum expanded.  “I’ve made arrangements to get her an apartment on the Left Bank.”

“Good lord.  Isn’t that a bit pricey?”

“A little.”  He turned to his father.  “You might as well know, I’m also setting her up with a bank account with a beginning balance and a monthly allowance along with some Stiltskin preferred stocks.”

“Well, damnation. She’s going to end up costing us a small fortune.”

“Probably,” Rum agreed.  “She’s worth a large fortune.”

Peter grimaced but then shrugged.  “Well, as long as she’s gone soon, I guess it’ll be worth it.”

After his father stepped out, Rum stood looking at himself in the mirror.  Now off the mountain, out of the Enchanted Forest and back in The Real World, he had shaken himself – like he would ever chuck it all and go live up in the cabin as a writer?  Or actually, go to Paris? 

No, no, never.  It had been a hard, harsh crash, but he had come back to reality, the clear-sighted, power _uber alles_ world of high finance and wheeling and dealing and business as usual. 

He stood looking at himself in the mirror.

_You are a worthless excuse for a human being.  You misled that poor girl, seduced her, took her virginity, convinced her you were an all right guy when we both know you’re a monster.  She deserves better than you._

Rum considered his options.  He was going to have to step up and do the right thing for once.

**Monday Morning**

The following morning, Belle had ridden into the office with a much subdued Rum, this time in an unfamiliar BMW i8 Spyder hybrid, an early model he’d been able to buy from a deal with the BMW plant in Spartanburg.  Belle seemed to be in a good mood – but then she was always in a good mood. 

She thought he’d been acting odd since they had gotten back after spending the night on the mountain.  He was quieter, avoiding eye contact, acting . . . guilty?

“How’s the library going?” he abruptly asked.

Belle didn’t answer right away.  _The library.  Neutral enough subject to broach._ She looked over at him, sullen creature that he was being, “Lovely.  I’ve got things separated and I’m ready to start building a catalog.  It’s the magazines that are the most work.  The books will slide right into their little Dewey Decimal niches.”

“Good,” he nodded. 

“Jefferson seems to be doing much better,” she finally said.

“Yes, he may be able to sit down soon,” he confirmed. 

“I really like Alice,” Belle said quietly.

“Me too,” he agreed.

_She considered telling him – she had talked with Jefferson last night._

_She had told him that what she’d felt for him was a girlish infatuation, that now, seeing what he had with Alice, she had realized that she would be just another fling for him.  She told him that she didn’t want to jeopardize what looked to be a real relationship for something that was almost certain to be temporary.  She’d assured him that she’d always have feelings for him, but she thought she needed to step aside so that he would have a chance to have The Real Thing._

_Jefferson had gotten very quiet but he had seemed all right with what she had said.  He had told her that, as far as Alice went, he was thinking that what he had with her was, indeed, different.  Jefferson had thought that, maybe, just maybe, he had finally grown up._  

Belle glanced over at Rum.  _Should she tell him she had broken it off with Jefferson?_

_Over on his side of the car, Rum was wondering whatever had he been thinking – trying to take this wonderful young woman away from Jefferson.  His brother was clearly more appropriate for her than he was, that he, Rum, was nothing more than a momentary distraction._

“Belle,” he began slowly breaking into her reverie.  “You know . . . you know, I can never be the man you want me to be.”

“Are you going to start in on how much older you are than I am, that you’re this dark soul who doesn’t deserve any brightness in his life, that you’ve done all these terrible things that you can’t tell me about.”

“That’s all true.  Belle, you do deserve better than me.”

“Shouldn’t I be the one to decide that?” she asked him as they pulled into his parking place.

He sat a moment in the car trying to pull himself together.  He alternately wanted to shake some sense into her or kiss her senseless.  He watched as she let herself out of the car and went on into the building. 

_Oh god! He needed to come clean about the apartment, the bank account, and the tickets, especially the tickets._

_Her presence seemed to make the fanciful a possibility.  During the car ride, he had also flirted with the wild idea, that once he had gotten her out of the country, that perhaps, maybe, he could arrange for a trip to Paris now and then, several times a year.  He could check on the Stiltskin Inc. holdings in that part of the world, what were they now?  some cheese or wine businesses? – more likely investment and real estate firms._

_She’d be happy in Paris, he was sure of it.  He kept telling herself that she would be so much better off there, away from his toxic family.  Of course, if he were totally honest, she’d be so much better off if she were away from him.  He shook himself._

_If he really had her best interests in mind, he wouldn’t be thinking about going over to Paris on alternate weekends and treating her like she was some good time Friday Night Girl._

_He wasn’t good for her._

_No, he finally had decided.  A clean, complete break was best.  Once he was out of the picture, she would realize that he wasn’t the right man for her.  And once she was gone, his head would clear and his heart wouldn’t hurt so badly.  It was best for both of them._

Sitting in his office, he tried to immerse himself in his work but, unbidden, images, imaginings of Belle kept coming into his head.  He thought of having her on his desk.  He could lift her up and set her on the edge.  She’d end up with her lovely legs wrapped around his waist or, more intriguing, with her ankles on his shoulders.

He got up and got himself some water.

He sat down again and managed about ten minutes of work before the idea of Belle in the building’s secluded staircase, bent over the railing, with him behind her, came into his head. 

He got up and got himself some coffee.

He shuffled the papers on his desk.  He took a deep breath and this time he managed about twenty minutes of work. Then the image of himself sitting in that big swivel chair in the library office burst into his thoughts.  Belle would be on his lap facing him, her legs through the arms of the chair, her short skirt pulled up and her panties off. 

He got up and got himself some scotch.

He returned to his seat, wiped his brow, and looked at the stacks of papers in front of him.  He picked up one.  Then the thought of Belle kneeling under the conference table exploded into his brain.  No one would know she was there, but she would carefully unfasten and unzip his pants . . . .

He vaulted out of the chair and threw the water, the coffee, the scotch across the room, the glasses shattering on the marble flooring.  The crashes were so satisfying he went over to the bar and began to systematically throw the glassware onto the marble floor, drowning his consciousness in the soft smashing sounds of glass against marble.  Smashing, crashing, shattering, piece after piece went down until he got to the errant chipped cup from Belle’s impromptu in-office picnic.  This he set aside.

He didn’t hear the door open and was surprised when he turned and Miss Gorim was standing watching him.  “Problem, sir?” she asked.

“No.  There’s no problem here,” he told her, shaking his head.

“Very well sir.  Shall I get someone in to clean up the glass?” she asked coolly.

He hesitated.  “No, yes.  Yes.  Get someone in.”

He sat back down and stared at the paperwork on his desk.  He didn’t know how long he had just sat there.  Someone had come in and cleaned up the glass; he had vague memories of this.  He didn’t see _her_ for lunch, not that he expected to.  He worked straight through the lunch hour. 

At some point, the words on the papers began to make sense and he was able to dictate responses, place orders, and provide direction on some small portion of the paperwork on his desk.  Finally, after multiple false starts, he immersed himself into the previously unattended-to-work and lost track of the time.  When there was a tap on his door, he looked up and saw that it was dark outside.  He was quite surprised when Belle’s burnished curls appeared around the door. 

“Supper?” she asked him.

“Not another picnic,” he looked up from his desk.  “It was a one-time fun thing but I think we scandalized Miss Gorim enough for the duration.”

“I ordered in.  Mediterranean.  Some falafel and tabbouleh and stuffed grape leaves and other yummy stuff.”  And she held out her arm showing him a large shopping bag.

He sighed.  “All right.”  And she bounced on into his office and began to clear off places at one of the meeting tables.  She set out paper plates and plastic cutlery. She looked around for some glassware but finding none, she picked up the chipped cup he’d adopted and set out a paper cup for herself.  She put out the food and produced a bottle of mellow red wine which she poured into the cups. 

“I thought you were mad at me,” he told her.

“I was, but I got over it.  I realized that you haven’t been in a relationship in a very long time and sharing feelings is hard for you and you don’t really mean to be a complete and utter arse.”

“Thank you . . .  I guess,” he told her.  They ate together silently.   _He had to tell her.  He had to tell her._

Belle was a little hesitant, “I know you aren’t going to abandon your work, your company and come away with me to Paris.  You’re certainly not going to walk away from it all and move to the mountains to become a writer.  I know all that sounded good, so lovely, when we were up at the cabin together, but now we’re back in town . . . “ she shrugged.  “It would be silly . . . unrealistic,” she told him. 

“Yeah, it would be,” he agreed dully.  “Unrealistic, not silly.”

“But I still think it would be good for you,” she told him gently. And she reached across the table for his hand and knocked over her own wine.  She immediately hopped up, “Oh no, how clumsy!  Let me get some napkins.”

She dashed over to his desk and began opening drawers.  “Don’t you have some tissues or napkins or anything stashed?” she asked him.  He had already gotten up and retrieved some paper napkins from his private washroom set off in one corner. 

“I got it.  We’re fine,” he told her swabbing down the table. When she didn’t say anything, he stopped and looked up at her.  She was standing at his desk, the center drawer opened.  She held the plane tickets in her hands.

“Oh Rum,” she looked up at him, her eyes glistening.  “You _were_ going to chuck it all and go to Paris.  And there’s a ticket for me too!  I can’t believe it!”  She ran over to him and put her arms around him.   She began to kiss him. “This is so wonderful!  I never thought you would be able to do it!”

“Belle,” he attempted to disengage her. 

“You won’t regret it!  I promise you!  It will be the best thing you’ve ever done!”

“Belle,” he tried again, his hands reaching for her wrists.

“This will be so terrific!  There are so many things I want to show you once we get there.”

“Belle,” he was miserable.

“Oh, I know there’ll be a scandal and stocks will drop in value and . . . but . . .” she was up waving the tickets around.

He managed to get her by the wrists and pull her hands down.  “Belle,” he said seriously.

She stopped talking.

“Belle, I . . . I wasn’t going with you . . . ” he finally got out, hesitantly.

She stood still a moment.  “But there are two tickets?” She was puzzled.

He stepped away from her. He looked away from her.  “I wasn’t going to show up.  I would have texted you that some important business had come up and I would join you later.”

She was still standing still.  “But . . .  you wouldn’t have joined me later, would you?” she asked him slowly.

“No, I wouldn’t have.   You need to know that, waiting for you, is a car, an apartment in Paris, a generous bank account with a monthly stipend and some Stiltskin stock.”

“I don’t understand?  Why would you do this to me?” she asked him.

“The desalinization project, Jefferson and Alice,” he provided by way of explanation.  “You were a distraction and I was intent on removing you.”

“But I’m no longer any threat to Jefferson and Alice or to your project.  You and I . . . we could be together,” she tried to reason with him.

“You still have to go.”  He took a deep breath.  “Belle, now you’re a distraction to me,” he confessed.  “Instead of focusing on my work, I keep imagining you . . . in different places in this office – this desk, bent over the railing in the staircase, in that large swivel chair in the library, under the conference table . . . . I can’t have you around and get any work done.” He shook his head and looked up at her.  He locked eyes, “The simple truth is -- that this project, my other work -- they mean more to me than you.”

“Oh,” realization dawned.  “I’m just in your way.  How inconvenient of me.” 

She was still a moment.  She just stood quietly for a long moment.  “When I first met you, I told you I didn’t want your kronen.  I’ll just take the plane ticket,” she told him picking it up and stepping away slowly.  She stopped at the door.  “You’re wrong, you know.  It’s not the project or your work.  It’s certainly not your brother.  The truth is that you could've had happiness, but you are a coward, Mr. Stiltskin.  You just don’t think I can love you. And now you’ve made your choice.  You’re going to regret it.  All you’ll have is an empty heart . . . and a chipped cup.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Next: Things get worked out.


	8. Flight

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Devastated by Rum's betrayal, Belle prepares to leave for Paris.

_Once back in town, both Belle and Rum have realized that the plans they had talked about up in the cabin -- for Rum to go to Paris, to go live in the mountains -- weren’t going to happen – all of it was a fun fantasy fueled by passion and the thin mountain air._

_Unbeknownst to Rum, Belle has talked at length with his brother, Jefferson, to let him know that she has realized she is not the one for him.  She has encouraged him to pursue his relationship with Alice._

_Things are tense between Rum and Belle as they ride into the office. Rum, once more, tries to persuade Belle to distance herself from him and she becomes angry at his continually pushing her away and making decisions for her._

_At a late supper in his office, Belle, no longer irritated with the man, discovers the Paris plane tickets but consumed with guilt and grief, Rum shares with her that, all along, he was planning to send her off alone (with a multitude of gifts).  Belle takes the plane ticket and tells him that he is a coward and just doesn’t believe that she can love him._

**Monday Night – Stiltskin Offices**

“Belle, please, please take the other things.  You deserve them.  It would . . .”

“Make you feel better?” she asked him, interrupting.  She shook her head.  “No thanks.  I’ll just take the plane ticket.  I see it leaves out the day after tomorrow.”  She sighed.  “You won’t see me again.  I think that will make it easier.” 

“At least let me drive you home,” he offered.

She gave him a thin smile and held up the plane ticket.  “I’m flying home.”

And then she walked out.

He did not go home that night.  His office was set up to accommodate the occasional night in, not that he slept any.  He sat up all night looking out at the city’s lights in the darkness.  _He was a dark soul, a terrible excuse for a human being.    And she had offered him a glimmer of light.   But he had been more interested in his power, his money, his business than love.  And she was right; he couldn’t believe that she, that anyone, could love him.  After all, what could love offer him?_

_Just closeness and comfort . . . and happiness._

He must have eventually dozed.  The sun coming through the window woke him up.  He’d been sitting in his chair.  He stretched, sore from the awkward position, and got up.  He went ahead and grabbed a shower and was shaving, getting ready to change into one of the suits he kept in the office for just such a purpose.  He heard a knock on the door.

 _Belle!_   He almost said her name aloud.  _Belle!_   _She’d come back!  His heart leaped.  He ran to the door._

It was Jefferson, walking unsteadily with a cane. 

Disappointment swept over him.  He had to take a moment to pull it together.

“You’re up and about early,” Rum managed to remark to his brother, doing his best to mask his disappointment.  “This is good.  I wanted to see you.  I’m canceling the desalinization project.  I’ve got a ticket to Paris here for you.  You’re the one she’s always wanted.  I was just a brief, unpleasant distraction.  She’ll be on the plane.  Belle will be on the plane,” he clarified.  “There’s also an apartment in Paris waiting.  I’ll speak to Alice’s family and make it all right.”

Jefferson walked into the office and took a moment to silently survey his usually dapper brother’s state of disarray.   He went over to the desk.  “Nice,” he said picking up the plane ticket and putting it back down.  “I came by early to talk to you,” Jefferson told him. 

“You had a talk with Belle,” Rum guessed.

“Oh, it involved a bit more than that.  Did you know that she had dumped me the night before last, Sunday night after you two had gotten back off the mountain?  Best dumping I’ve ever had.  Made it sound like I was the good guy.  That’s not why I’m here.”

“Listen, I think I . . . .”

 Jefferson waved him off.  “She dropped by to see me again late . . .  very late . . . last night.”

Rum didn’t say anything.

“She said she’d be going back to Paris.  And she gave me a kiss.”  Jefferson eased himself carefully onto the corner of Rum’s big executive desk.  “I guess I dodged a bullet with Belle,” he began.  “You’d think by now that I should be able to recognize the kind of woman who’s just interested in money, but I guess I’m still blinded by a pair of great legs.  I gather she realized you had a lot more money than I did and decided to go after you.  Got to hand it to you.  You were always so clever, about so many things.  You recognized her for what she was – after our money and all.  Not sure how you extricated yourself . . .”

Jefferson didn’t get a chance to finish.  Rum landed a punch on his jaw toppling the wobbly Jefferson over and off the desk.  Jefferson dropped to the floor landing on his back.  He pulled himself up to his elbows and started to laugh . . . then cry as he rubbed his wretched posterior.  “Took you long enough,” he told his brother.

“What?” Rum was confused.

“You’re in love with the woman!”

“I can’t be!” Rum protested.   He held out his hand to help his brother to his feet. 

“Of course, you are!  It’s just a feeling you’ve never felt before so you don’t recognize it.  You sure as hell don’t recognize when a woman’s in love with you, you big dumbass.  And you’re sending her off to Paris?  What the hell are you thinking?  Your relationship with her is not going to affect me and Alice.   It’s not going to affect the desalinization project.  You’re free and clear to be with her.  Tell me, what’s stopping you from doing that, from being with her?’

“I told her everything and now she . . . she thinks I’m an arse,” Rum told his brother.

“Well, we all do.  So what?” Now Jefferson was rubbing his jaw.  “Go after her.”

“I’m no good for her.  She knows I manipulated her, lied to her, used her.  She won’t want to see me again.”

“I wouldn’t be too sure of that,” Jefferson counseled him leaning back against the desk.

“Why would you say that?”

“I don’t have many skills, brother, but I actually do know a little about women.  I told you that Belle had come by to see me and had given me a kiss.  A very salty, very sad kiss.  I began putting two and two together and, I may be slow, but given enough time, I am able to figure things out.  I knew that she didn’t love me anymore, maybe, probably, she never had loved me.  However, sometime between Sunday night and Monday night, the woman’s heart had been broken.”  Jefferson looked his brother over.  “I figured you were the son of a bitch who broke it.  The woman’s in love with you and I had to come here to find out if you had any feelings for her.  And yes, I had a long talk with Alice, told her the whole sordid story, including confessing my reprehensible role in the whole mess.”

“So you’re single again?” Rum managed to ask.

“No.  Alice . . .  is remarkable.  I got a well-deserved earful and some, shall we call them . . . guidelines for future behavior.  She’s going to look over the pre-nup again but she . . .  she’s willing to give me a second chance.   She then agreed to drive me in to see you.  She’s waiting for me by the way.  We’re thinking of setting the date for October thirty-first.  It suits her odd sense of humor and I’m fine with whatever.”

“All right,” Rum replied, trying to take in everything his brother was telling him.

“Oh, I’ll be wanting everything you’ve got on that desalinization project.  Since it will involve my new wife’s family, I’d kinda like to be on top of things – maybe taking a hand in running things – especially if you’re going to be out of the country for a while.”

Rum was a bit stunned.  “You’re getting involved with the family business?”

“Since you’re going to be in Paris for a while, someone needs to run things,” Jefferson told him.

Numbly Rum nodded, “Miss Gorim can help you out – she pretty much runs things anyway.”

“Ah ha!” Jefferson exclaimed.  “I’d always wondered about that.  I’ll be talking with her then.”  Jefferson looked his brother over _thinking he looked like crap._   “Well, are you going to go home and pack a bag?  You don’t have long to get ready for this Paris trip.  I’ll tell the Iron Maiden you’re going.”  He paused as he got to the door of the office.  “Oh yeah, before you go, can you direct me to my office?  I thought that would be a good place for me to set up.”

**Midday - Wednesday**

Belle was sitting on the plane. 

_She couldn’t help but think back to her father and their tearful goodbye.  She had confessed all to him –  well mostly all – not the night of passion with Rum and all the orgasms, but all about her misguided love for the elder Stiltskin scion.  And finding out that it was all a manipulation by the man to get her out of the picture so a multi-billion dollar deal could go through._

_Once she had realized how she had been used, she had been devastated._

_But she didn’t blame Rum, not entirely.  She had jumped headlong into his arms, into his bed.  She had said she was an adult.  She needed to take responsibility for her behavior like an adult._

_A part of her had thought, had wanted to believe, that he might have some real feelings for her but . . . well, he couldn’t accept that about himself.  He would never take the risk of getting into a real relationship with her . . . with anyone._

_After she had shared her sad story with her father, he had hugged her and did his best to comfort her – all without telling her “I told you so.”_

_She loved her dad._

_Then he had taken a moment and handed her a check he had written out._

_“What is this? It’s for ten thousand dollars!” she had exclaimed._

_“A little starter money  . . . for you to begin a new life,” he had told her._

_“Oh, Daddy, I can’t take this.  This must be your life’s savings,” she tried to hand it back but he had waved her off._

_“I’ve got plenty.  I’ve had a good salary, very few expenses, I’ve managed to save a lot and I . . . I’ve done a little investing,” he admitted._

_She laughed “What?  You’re going to tell me you have a couple of hundred thousand ferreted away?”_

_“A little more than that,” he was slow to make his confession.  “Actually closer to three million.”  Belle looked at him agape._

_“But . . . but . . . how?” she asked stopping her packing to sit down._

_“Well, nearly thirty years ago, when I started driving Mr. Stiltskin Senior, I would hear him investing -- buying and selling.  I talked with young Mr. Rum. At that time, he was in college and had already been very successful with his own investing.  He gave me some advice and got me started.  At first, I would follow along; when he or Mr. Stiltskin would buy a thousand shares, I would buy ten.  Later I could afford to buy a hundred.  When they would sell, I would sell.  Later, I think because of all the reading I was doing, I was able to pick out some of my own investments, most of which have proven to be very, very profitable. When you were born, your mother and I started a little portfolio for you and, right now, you’ve got about a million in your own name stashed away.   I got some of the others on staff investing too, so everyone is doing pretty well,” he told her.  He looked at her seriously.  “Belle, I plan on retiring in about two years and I was thinking of asking Ms. Potts to share the wealth.  Would you be . . . all right with that?”_

_“Of course!  Of course.  I love Ms. P, Daddy.  She’s always been like a second mother to me.  And, of course, I want you to be happy, too.”_

She had to smile through her tears, happy for her father and, honestly, glad to have the security of a substantial nest egg to buffer her until she could settle in and start her life over.  She had asked her father to continue to manage her account _since he obviously knew what he was doing._ At the moment she had two thousand in her pocket – she’d changed it into traveler’s checks and Euros before she left and the rest she’d put into the bank.  She was sitting in first class, thanks to Rum’s plane ticket, so she had a lot of room.  She’d already ordered herself some wine and was doing her best not to keep crying.  Maybe with the wine, she would make it.

She would have thought that she had cried herself out but odd things would make her tear up again – trumpet music, the smell of curry, the smell of newsprint.   

She looked over at her seatmate, someone swathed up head to toe in blankets. He. . .  she . . . it had been there when she got on.  She sincerely hoped the person wasn’t ill. 

The plane began to taxi down the runway.  Belle pulled out her tablet and began reading.  No, not reading, she was looking at the words but nothing was sinking in.  If she could only get focused on the story.  Then maybe, between her story and the wine she would make it. 

Concentration failed.  She began to make plans for what she would do once she got to Paris.  She thought perhaps she’d give the old Baron a ring when she got to Paris.  He could probably recommend a place for her stay and perhaps point her towards some employment.

The stewardess had come by and was addressing her seatmate.  “Wine, sir?”

“Can you put it in this?” the voice was muffled but vaguely familiar.  However, the chipped cup that was being held out was quite recognizable.

“Rum? Rum!” She was  stunned.  He pulled off the blankets that he’d wrapped around himself.

“A very good friend told me that I really needed a vacation.  Said I might enjoy Paris.”

“You will,” she was brushing tears away.   “But I don’t understand.  Why . . . why are you here?”

“I’m here because this is where I’m supposed to be,” he answered simply.

“But . . . “ she stumbled, trying to begin.  “But . . . but everything was a lie.  You don’t care about me.  You never cared.  You only wanted to get rid of me.”

“That’s how it started,” he admitted.  “But then . . . things changed.”

“How . . . however can I believe you now?” she asked, shaking her head.

He didn’t answer right away.  “Because you know me,” he told her.  “You know me better than I know myself.”

Belle sat quietly, staring blankly at her e-reader, trying to sort things out.  _How could she trust him again?  How could she believe him? Should she believe him?_

“My friend promised me that she would show me around Paris,” he reminded her gently.  He looked at her, brown eyes meeting blue.  “Does . . . at least . . . that offer still stand?”

Belle hesitated, “Yes . . . yes, of course, it does!”  She looked at him intently, “What . . . what changed your mind? Why did you come after me?”

“Because, according to . . .  everyone we know, I’m an idiot, who let the best thing that’s ever happened to me slip through my fingers.   I got to hear this from my brother who was the first on the scene yesterday morning.  Also from Alice who was pretty colorful when she cornered me about what I’d done.  And Miss Gorim, who called me a, try to be calm here – this is swearing for her – she called me a blockhead.  And . . . your dad, who said you’d be better off without me.  The toughest lecture came from Ms. Potts.”

“Dear Ms. Potts.  She never has a cross word for anyone,” Belle said.

“Well, she did for me,” he told Belle.  “She sat me down to tell me how disappointed she was with me.  But then she fixed me some tea and told me she knew I would figure things out and do the right thing.”

Belle had to smile.  Ms. Potts was such a dear.

“The only person who didn’t tell me I was being an idiot was my father who thought I’d done the right thing – which sent a cold shiver up my spine because my father is . . . probably one of Satan’s favorites.”  He looked into her eyes, “Belle, I realized I was . . . I am . . . in love with you.  I don’t think I’m good enough for you, I know I’ll continually disappoint you, but I’m still in love with you.  I am the man that I am, Belle.  I’ll try to be the best man I can be, but, you understand, I am a man who makes bad decisions about relationships.  But you make me want to be better.  I’ll spend the rest of my life trying to be better if you’ll have me.”

_He waited nervously. When he had talked this over with Maurice, the man had finally given Rum his reluctant blessing to go after Belle, after securing his promise that he would do his best not to break her heart again.  Maurice had agreed with him that he wasn’t good enough for Belle.  It hurt, but it was true._

_And when he had talked this over with Alice, she had assured him that Belle was in love with him and if he told her the truth, he might, maybe, just maybe, have another shot with her._

Belle spoke slowly, “Was that a proposal?”

He gave her a slow smile.  “Belle, I come from a family of men who all have histories of impulsive marriage proposing and, very often, it doesn’t work out well.  Having said that, I’ve gotten to my position in the financial world by recognizing a great deal when I come across one.  And you, my dear, are the best deal I’ve ever come across.  What I would like to do . . . “

And Belle recognized that he had gone into his business negotiation mode _the same mode that took over weaker companies, that crushed competition, that brought powerful organizations to their knees._ She waited.

“I’d like to put the offer of marriage on the table . . . for your consideration.  It will stay on the table, a day, a week, a month or a year or however long it takes until you accept it or you tell me to take it off.”  He seemed unsure of himself.  “If you want to wait a while before you answer, I’ll completely understand.”   And he reached into his pocket and pulled out a small box.  “Jefferson and Alice helped me pick it out. I don’t know if it will fit, but that can be corrected.”  He added, almost shyly, “I know this is quick, very quick, and I don’t want you to feel you have to give me an answer right away . . . but I wanted you to know how I feel.”

She opened the box and gasped. “This is too big for a diamond.  It’s like an itty bitty ice skating rink.” She slipped it on and held out her hand.  “It fits.  It’s beautiful.”

“So your answer is . . .?”

She considered a moment _let him squirm a bit_.  In her most severe librarian voice she spoke slowly, “I’ll give your offer serious consideration.  Perhaps what we need is a long engagement, maybe like a pre-engagement.  We can get to know each other better, see how much we really have in common, see how well we can accept our differences?” And she handed him back the ring. “You keep this for now.”

He nodded, hope blooming.  _She hadn’t told him to jump out of the plane without a parachute._   “That’s acceptable.”  He continued eagerly, “We don’t have to stay in the same apartment in Paris.  I don’t want you to feel any pressure.”

There was another pause.

“We can stay in the same apartment,” she told him quietly.

He was a trifle surprised.  “You can let me know where you want me to sleep.  I’ll take the sofa if you want.  Hell, I’ll sleep on the kitchen floor if you want me too, but,” he gave her his sexiest smile, “it would be a lot more fun if I slept in your bed . . .  with you.”

She smiled very slightly, “We’ll see.”  _Well, just darn.  Even being angry and upset with the man, he could still make her insides all warm and tingly._

“It’s not just about the sex,” he followed-up.  “What we had was . . . fantastic.  And there are so many things I’d like to do to you, to show you, when you’re ready . . . assuming that you want to again, at some point.  But you know it’s not just about sex.  I like being with you, talking with you, seeing things through your eyes, hearing about your day, all those regular everyday things that would be boring to me if they were about anybody else.” 

“When you aren’t being  . . . unpleasant, I like being with you too,” she told him. 

He sat back and stretched, relief flooding him.  “How long you think this pre-engagement should be?”

“Well, let’s see.  For your family a long engagement is what?  Six weeks?” she asked him.

“Pretty much,” he agreed.  “Although Jefferson and Alice are going for a new record.  They’re planning on a late October wedding, so that makes it nearly,” he paused while he counted things up, “Nearly six months since they first met before they’re getting married.”     

“Then we can wait six months too,” she told him. 

He took a deep breath. _She had not spit on him, smashed his special cup, or told him she never wanted to see him again.  She was willing to give him six months to try to make things up to her! She was willing for them to stay in the same apartment.  Images of Belle in a bed, his bed, wearing some little white lacey thing, smiling at him, holding her arms out to him came into his head – nice, comforting images._   He was starting a new life.  It was . . . wonderful.

She leaned over to him and whispered.  “You do know that I love you too.”

He reached for her hand.  “Actually, I do,” he told her with that smile that made her insides flip over.    They held hands as the plane left the ground and took them aflight.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I’ve had this remix in my Twyla Files for a while. In case there is anyone out there who doesn’t know/hasn’t realized, this is based on the movie Sabrina (which was originally a stage play). Mostly, I worked from the original version with Bogey and Audrey Hepburn (both people I really like, but who sadly lacked chemistry between them in this movie). It was remade with Harrison Ford and Julia Ormond and I did use elements from the second movie here and there in this version.  
> I got the idea watching the original movie during the pivotal scene wherein Sabrina discovers that it’s all been a ruse and the oldest brother never had any intention of going to Paris, so she, classily, elects to be the one to go away. It reminded me so much of the Skin Deep break-up scene: the brave, stalwart heroine who’s not afraid of love and the tormented hero who doesn’t feel he’s worthy of love and doesn’t want to lose his power/business -- this was just too much overlap to ignore. In Sabrina, the hero goes after her (which darn it all, Rumple should have done too).  
> I did alter the character of Elizabeth (Jefferson’s fiancée) into Alice. She was quite unsympathetic in the first movie (the remake did a much better job with this character). The card playing scene where Alice lays down two pairs (of ones) was ripped off from a Bugs Bunny cartoon, Barbary Coast Bunny (I guess the rabbit thing and Alice and Jefferson/Mad Hatter was playing in my unconscious and bubbled up when I was writing my own Alice/Mad Hatter scenes).  
> Stay tuned, I'm hoping to get out my next work (working name is still The Grey Hunter) next week. It's an ambitious piece and a bit grim (as people requested when I was working on Some Soul of Goodness -- not light and fluffy, as I might have guessed).  
> Thx so much for all your delightful support; it is so appreciated -twyla

**Author's Note:**

> NEXT WEEK: An engagement is announced  
> Belle gets a ride home by someone who doesn’t recognize her


End file.
